Colour Me Surprised
by Thursdays
Summary: Set one month into the third season. Lola has comfortably taken the place of Dana, but some people still can't accept it. Surprises, arrivals and newfound friendships are in store for the gang this year as they progress through boarding school life.
1. Prologue: Dana

**Colour Me Surprised**

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Prologue: Dana  
_Friday, June 16th, 2006 (7:46 pm)_

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It's seven forty-six, and I'm still sitting here on the side of the road. I don't dare to look around me; I've been in this god forsaken place sixteen minutes too long. 

At seven fifteen I dragged my suitcases outside and parked them on the curb, leaving them in the care of Dustin so nothing would be given a chance to go missing; though I have a feeling he took my gummy bear stash.

Seven twenty and I was saying my good-byes, desperately fighting back tears, tears that ignored my restrain. Hot streams spilled down my cheeks as I hugged my friends passionately, promising to write between sobs and heartache.

It was hardest to say good-bye to Chase. We had been through a lot together and I love him unconditionally. It was with me that he left his darkest secrets, his hopes and prayers. A lot of people at PCA think that Zoey is his best friend, but she's not the one Matthews calls at 2:30 in the morning because he needs to talk about life. I had a feeling Chase would be most difficult farewell, being my best friend and all, and I was right.

I was right, that is, until Logan stepped up and brought goose bumps to my skin with one embrace. The feeling is still freshly implanted on my mind, my skin. Why does he do this to me; can't he feel how I shiver when he holds me? I know he catches the stolen glimpses, the all-too-coincidental interactions between my fingers and his knee beneath the tabletops.

He held on a moment too long and it was then that I knew I had to get away, had to leave.

It was seven twenty five.

"Reese, you have to let go now." I murmured, my voice shaking uncontrollably, uncharacteristically.

To an innocent bystander, it would appear that he had simply squeezed me tighter in response.

Being close to Logan Reese is never simple. By holding me closer, by pressing his flesh into mine, he captured me and he knew it. It was the same old story, though the ending was changing for good. I couldn't bear to leave then, though I knew I had to.

It was for the best.

"Please stop it Logan." I whispered into his ear as I pulled away. The clock mounted on the wall over his shoulder seemed to echo with every passing second.

Seven twenty eight.

His grip loosened and he pulled away from me slowly. I could feel him looking at me in that spine-tingling way I've grown accustomed to. His hands lingered on my waist as I bit my lip, desperate to avoid his gaze.

"When you come back," he said, a small yet undeniably cheeky grin breaking his solemn expression. "still want me, huh?"

The tone of voice in which he had said **when** I come back, not if, made me realize that I had never decided if I was indeed coming back to PCA at all.

I removed myself from his warm confinement and left him with an answer I knew neither of us could fully comprehend.

"I'll have lots of time to think about it, won't I."

This was true, because I have absolutely no clue if I'll be back in a month or three years. I gave one final wave and exited the building as time closed in on seven thirty.

So, here I am; sitting on this same sun-warmed curb at precisely seven fifty four. The sun's just starting to sink into the ocean, its fiery orange glow seeping into the dark water. Just one more thing I'm going to miss, I guess. I can't even begin to count how many times I left my dorm late at night to sit on the beach last year, though I do remember how warm it was despite the darkened sky.

Headlights disrupt my thoughts and the sound of heavy tires draws near. A bright yellow taxi pulls up near the curb and a small man pops out of the driver's side, holding a card in his hand.

"Dana Cruz?" he asks, looking up at me with small eyes.

"Yep, that's me." I reply, standing and brushing off my pant legs. I help Stewart, as his nametag displays, to lift my bags into the trunk of his car.

Stewart utters a "Whenever you're ready, Miss", and steps back into the car to give me a few more private moments. Or possibly finish that ham sandwich he had abandoned, presumably with reluctance, on the dashboard. I stand perfectly still and look around the campus once more, letting out a deep sigh. I look down at the chunky white watch positioned at my wrist.

Eight oh one.

I draw my jacket closer and step into the car, being careful to close the door with a small click. I pull on my seatbelt just as Stewart pulls into a turn and retreats slowly out of the driveway. Looking to my left I can see the Logan, sitting serenely on the grass and staring at the sunset. I stare at him hoping (wishing-_praying_) he'll feel my eyes penetrating him.

He stiffens, but keeps his back turned towards me as I pull out of the school.

My eyes don't leave his body until eight oh seven, when we make a right turn off of the school's property. My last glimpse of him, and there was no interaction whatsoever.

I slump down in my seat, not daring to think in detail of what awaits me.

Eight oh nine.

Maybe it's for the best.

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**Author's Note:** Alright, so what do you think? I know that in the summary it says that the time period is third season and the prologue is set after the first season. This prologue was created simply to explain Dana's departure in detail, rather than just a memory. I also know that there are a lot of stories out there in which the basis is Dana's departure but trust me, you'll be hearing from her pretty soon. I'm planning on alternating characters between chapters so we get a snapshot of each distinct personality and trauma. I'm not the best at continuing on with chapters, so reviews would be very helpful so I know that there are some people reading my work. I'm gonna go ahead and assume that if you are down here reading this, you've read this chapter. So when you're ready, the review button is just over there.


	2. Ruination: Logan

**Author's Note:** Sorry guys, it's a bit of a short chapter this time around. I had to do a lot of editing, so it basically got cut in half.

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Ruination: Logan  
_Thursday, November 9th, 2006 (11:54 am)_

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_Hip roll, head toss (flicky hair). Repeat. 

It's the way I swagger into the room; eyes glinting, lips full and smirking. It's the way I give knowing glances to those select few, winks to even fewer. It's the way I flex my muscles inconspicuously that makes the girls swoon, and don't I know it.

Hip roll, head toss (flicky hair). Repeat. 

I catch their glances often enough to feel slightly uneasy, yet I return them with a defying stare accompanied by the odd half-smile. It's just what I do; some would call it insufferable, vain, egocentric.

I would have to agree with them.

Truth is, it isn't an act. I feed off attention; I crave the looks, the words whispered behind cloth-bound textbooks. As long as somebody is talking about me, thinking about me, lusting after me, I feel alive.

I can feel them watching constantly, critiquing my every move. I guess I'm an easy target for this. I mean, I'm rich, incredibly good-looking, not to mention a ladies man, and I flaunt it all. Because of this, people take it upon themselves to find ways to manipulate my words and actions to fit their own twisted lifestyle; it's almost like I'm some weird fabrication.

This doesn't really bother me, though. I don't yearn for people to understand me or look past my appearance. It's much simpler if they don't. Most relationships are hard for me to maintain because of this, this _extraction_ from people.

So I guess the point is, I'm not as simple-minded and easy to interpret as most people like to think. I mean, I confuse _myself_ constantly. My life's just like theirs; chockfull of teenage trauma and melancholy confusion. Whose isn't, these days?

Now that I'm out on the patio in broad daylight, surrounded by people, it's time to put away all the deeper, highly unorganized thoughts. I love my friends and all, but I'd prefer it if they continue to think of me as someone who lives for Daddy's cash and hott girls. For now, anyways.

Sauntering across the cafeteria, tray laden with fries and mineral water (thrice filtered with ozone added) I pause, smile faltering and heart hesitating. It's not difficult for me to pick out my friends, due to the fact that we sit at the same table everyday, and Chase still refuses to trim that bush he calls hair. Honestly, when is that kid going to give in and use some of my products? I mean, I don't leave them lying around our room for nothing.

Making my way over to the kids, I pick out my ruination once again, confirming that today is no different than most others.

A fake and bake twig of a girl is occupying a seat that isn't meant for her size double zero waist. I can see her chattering incessantly, pausing only to flip a strand of dark hair behind her shoulder, hair streaked with colours and adorned with ridiculous decorations. The others all laugh along with her, grinning at her witty comments, and I feel like I'm the only one not ready to face reality, to accept this new, uncouth addition.

I stroll up to our table in ten quick steps and slide myself onto a bright plastic seat between Chase and Zoey, enjoying the daggers they're both shooting at me. Sure, they think I'm a jerk, but in reality, I'm doing them a favour. I don't know what it is yet, but they'll figure it out and thank me soon enough.

"Ohmigosh, hi Logan!" -insert mad giggling- "Didn't you love English this morning? I loved English this morn…" Lola and Nicole blab a long hello to me (I just nod) before going back to the hair flipping.

Okay, so fact for fact here. It's not that I dislike Lola; she's pretty nice and can be a lot of fun. It's just that I can't be around her for more than an hour at a time. Something about her just... irks me. Something other than the fact she's replaced Dana.

It's been roughly 16 months since I last saw Danger Cruz, and that's precisely 15 months, 29 days and fifty minutes too long (give or take a few days, hours, minutes, seconds).

Yes, I admit; the first little while was actually enjoyable. No more constant bickering, sweaty palms or twisted pit in my stomach. Ten minutes later, however, came the realization that that is exactly what it was.

No more constant bickering, sweaty palms or twisted pit in my stomach.

I'm estimating that's about when I fell apart.**

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**Author's Note:** First real chapter down. Haha, took me long enough. Alright, so I have absoloutely no clue whose point of view I should use for my next chapter. Any suggestions?


	3. What To Do: Chase

**Author's Note:** Alright, second chapter up and running! This one is in Chase's point of view and is thankfully longer than the last chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

What To Do: Chase  
_Thursday, November 9th, 2006 (12:17 pm)_

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Whoever decided that ketchup and mustard compliment each other on a hot-dog was completely and ultimately wrong. And probably stupid. I mean sure, the colours mix to make a nice orange, but the appeal stops there. One bite and I practically gag; the taste is disgusting.

I know it's weird, being 15 and a half and having never tried a mustard and ketchup dog, but the idea has always been too weird for me. I have this thing about strange foods; I don't eat them. Ketchup and mustard definitely equals strange. Not even Zoey would be able to place another bite of it in my mouth.

Okay, so maybe Zoey could, but that's about it. Even my best friend couldn't talk me into it. Well, my best friend from grade eight, that is; I know Michael would find a way to force-feed me. I'm not sure if Dana still considers me as close a friend as I do her. We talk and stuff, but it's not as frequent.

More than a year later, and I still thinks it's stupid; my best friend running off to Paris.

And in carrying out that unthinkable deed, she left:

a) Logan "heartbroken" and moping around,  
b) Me to face Zoey alone and  
c) Nicole to whine for about a month.

Not to mention one half of the amazing BFFL power-duo.

And, ladies and gentlemen, here to top it all off: Lola Martinez. The rather bonkers, not to mention drama queen-esque, spunky clone of Nicole. Who also happens to be enamoured with me.

Lola, that is. Not Nicole.

It's a great life. My friends are all bizarre, and the only sane one happens to be the girl of my dreams, who doesn't seem to know how I feel about her. And I can't seem to tell her. It's times like these that I really, _reall_y need Dana. And not just via e-mail and phone calls.

Sure, I can turn to my other super best friend Michael in situations like these, but his advice is always the same: "Just **tell her** man!"

As a matter of fact, that's what he's saying to me right now.

"Look, Mike; if it was that simple, I would have done it a long time ago. And I mean a _really_ long time ago," I answer, for what could likely be the 300th time. This week. I'm starting to feel like one of those parrots. The kind that sits in a corner and repeats the same phrase over and over, but nobody really pays attention. I hate parrots; they bite.

"It _is_ that simple, moron."

Ah, Logan. Being his regular bag of sunshine and candy corn, I see. I look over at him as he pushes another fry into his mouth, rolling his eyes at me. I raise an eyebrow in what I hope is a dignified manner.

"Ah, but is it?" I ask him, smiling to myself.

AHA. So who's the moron now?

"Uh, yeah, it is."

Touché.

I scan the rest of the table, mentally checking for the fourth time that Zoey isn't anywhere in sight; it's sure taking her a long time to find that paper she went off looking for. Spotting Quinn, I decide to ask her the same question:

"Quinn, what should I do about Zoey?"

"Well, it just so happens that I've invented a new pill that, when taken, boosts the hormone Oxytocin, increasing your desire to fall in love." She explains happily, rambling on for awhile about all the ingredients and how exactly she concocted this, uh, thing.

"Uh, Quinn?" I interrupt, "I'm gonna assume there are side effects."

She scoffs. "Of course."

I stare blankly at her; she says nothing.

"So… what _are _they?"

"Severe rashes on your neck and lower back. Also, there may be excessive headaches, drooling and profuse sweating," she pauses, probably registering the look on my face. "Oh, but there's only a twenty percent chance of any of that happening."

I nod.

"Thanks, I'll consider it."

NEXT.

Trying to ignore Quinn's inquiring stare, I turn to our resident chatterbox, desperately hoping I'm not making a huge mistake.

"So, Nicole. What do you think I should do?"

"About what? …is it Zoey? I'll bet it's Zoey. Ohmigosh it's totally Zoey! You think Zoey's cute, don't you? I love cute people. Boys are pretty cute. Well, besides you guys 'cause I mean, you guys are my friends! And that would just be awkward. Don't you think that would be awkward? I think that would be totally awkward. But you and Zoey wouldn't be awkward. You would be…"

I've made a huge mistake.

I glance over at my last chance, who is sitting alongside Nicole and nodding her head to every good point that Nicole is making. There are apparently quite a few. It's almost like watching a bobble head.

Bobble heads freak me out.

"…do you want me to tell her? 'Cause I could tell her if…"

"NO, Nicole!" I yell at the peppy, brown-haired girl. Surprisingly, this shuts her up. "Th-that won't be necessary, thanks."

I flash a smile, embarrassed by my sudden outburst. She looks bewildered.

And off she goes again.

Logan stands to leave and I jump up to follow, making a bid for freedom. He doesn't question my immediate accompaniment but instead casts me a knowing look. As we leave the patio; Logan in the lead, myself trailing after, I take one last look behind me to see Michael still seated at the table, a scholarly look on his face.

I can't believe it.

He's been sucked in.

Well, no hope for him now. Might as well be off to… wherever it is that I'm going. I'll make a note to ask Logan about that soon.

"Hey Logan, hey Chase."

"Hey Zoey."

My head snaps back around, receiving numerous complaints from my vertebrae, when I hear that voice. And that name. And that "Hey Chase".

"Oh, uh, h-hi Zoe," I grin at her as we stride by her.

"Hi again," she says playfully, smiling at me and giving a wave.

Ah, she's smiling at me… and now she's looking at me funny.

"If you're heading to the table, see if you can rescue Michael," I splutter, snapping out of my day-dream involving Zoey and a pirate ship.

"Why, what's wrong with him?"

"Nicole," I say, or rather shout, seeing as how we're a good ten feet apart by now.

"Okay, gotcha," she replies with a wink before whisking off to save Michael's soul.

Godspeed Zoey, Godspeed.

I walk briskly to catch up to Logan, not wanting to be left on my own. Why? I can't really say.

"Dude, she obviously likes you. Do something already; make your move!" Logan exclaims as we dump our trays at the window. He talks about it as if it were the easiest thing in the entire world.

Pfft. I'd like to see him try.

"Pfft. I'd like to see _you_ try," I retort.

"I already have. And it _worked_."

"Oh yeah, with who?"

"Liza. You know, from fifth-period Algebra? She was totally trying to land me, so I figured hey, why not take the bait? And I took it man; hook, line and sinker," he winks suggestively at me, somehow managing to flash a smile at the nearest beauty at the same time.

I sigh with exasperation. Why do I always feel exasperated when I'm around Logan?

"See, this is why I prefer talking to Dana. She at least talks about girls as if they were people, not objects or fishing rods."

Logan hesitates a moment before answering. By now we're approaching the movie theater. For a guy who saunters half the time, he sure can walk fast. "Yeah, well, she's not here anymore, is she, brainiac? So you're gonna have to settle for me. Or Lola," he adds this last name in a sing-song voice.

He should just die in a badger hole.

Right now.

I could arrange it - I have some very close badger friends who would gladly dig a hole for me.

But no matter; I'd gotten him good. I said the D word, and he faltered. His reaction has actually improved a lot since last year. At the beginning of freshman year, if somebody mentioned Dana he'd get all moody and be sullen for about ten minutes. He's kinda got this thing with ten; almost everything he does is measured in the number.

Sometimes I like to mention Dana's name in a conversation ten times, just to watch him freak out.

That's about when I realize that I'm a horrible person.

And I'm even more horrible for not caring.

"I miss **Dana**, don't you Logan? **Dana** was so much fun, especially when you guys used to constantly argue. That was always entertaining…" My last word fades as I notice the look on Logan's face.

Aw damn, I took it too far. Now I feel really, really bad.

Scratch that not caring part; I'm not a bad, dangerous, sexy guy, I only wish I was. My conscience is too big for all that pressure. I put an arm around his shoulders and squeeze.

"It's okay, man. I know she misses you too."

Aw thanks, Chase; you're a really great friend.

Or maybe even: you know what, you're right. Want some genuine help with Zoey?

"Yeah, whatever," he says, flicking his hair back with expertise. "It's not like I care or anything."

Oh. Okay then.

And with that he shrugs my arm off his shoulders and heads off for, presumably, the basketball court. It's where he always goes when he's upset, confused, or just plain pissed off.

Of course, this leaves me behind, all by myself.

Feeling more than slightly rejected, I head back to our dorm. Hopefully Michael will be along soon, compliments of Zoey.

Well, I guess to pass the time there's only one thing I can do.

Read.

I can't believe it's come to this.

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Author's Note:** So how was this one? I hope I kept Chase in character enough. That reminds me; if you don't think I'm keeping a certain person in character, please, feel free to tell me! It bothers me when somebody gives; let's say Nicole, a mean and nasty personality, and I certainly don't want to be a hypocrite. All other constructive criticism is helpful as well. Oh, and if anybody knows what the boys dorm hall is called, could you please tell me? Thanks! Next chapter: Dana. 


	4. First To Know: Dana

**Author's Note:** Wow, 3 chapters, 500+ hits and 21 reviews. Thanks everyone, especially the reviewers! Okay, so in the last chapter I originally said that this chapter would be in Lola's POV, but I came across a better idea for Lola's chapter, an idea that meant Dana would have to have a say first. So I went back and changed Lola's name to Dana in the author's note. Sorry for the mix-up!

**Disclaimer: **The songs mentioned, Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

First To Know: Dana  
_Thursday, November 9th, 2006 (12:13 pm)_

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"…one where I wake up and I'm…"

Sometimes I wonder: do songwriters ever stop to think how freaky it is that they can write out a stranger's entire existence, package and sell it?

I mean, sure, the writer has probably experienced the same things as half the population, because the situations are a result of basic human nature, but still. Every once in a while there's a song that seems like it's explaining everything that's happening in my life at the time.

For example, when I first got the forms about studying in France I was listening to my iPod shuffle. And the next song in line happened to be Think It Over, followed by MakeDamnSure. Coincidence?

Fast forward a few months to the actual plane ride to France; the first song I heard as the plane was rolling down the runway (I was looking at one of the photo albums Zoey had made for me) was Going Away To College.

Throughout the year, my music never failed to amaze me. Every single time I was overwhelmed with feelings I would turn on my shuffle and a song would come on and experience the emotions with me. Even though I, personally, think it's downright creepy, it's not really a shock to me anymore; I've actually come to expect it.

So that's why right now, at twelve thirteen on a Thursday afternoon in October, as my cab races through the streets of California, I'm not surprised to be listening to The Adventure. Returning to PCA after running away more than a year ago is definitely what I would classify as an adventure.

My favourite line so far is: "I'm the first to know, my dearest friends", because it's definitely the one that best represents my situation. See, my friends don't know I'm coming back; nobody does. Well, except for Dean Rivers. But he doesn't count. He's an imbecile.

Twelve oh clock on the dot, sitting in the back of a taxi on scorching hot leather seats and I'm becoming emotional already. It's so stupid that I, of all people, am getting all choked up about coming back to some stupid school. The lessons aren't as interesting as the ones in Paris, the food isn't as exotic and the people… well, I'm not going to lie, the people are a whole other story.

Photo album anyone? I pull the large, rectangular book out of my bag, laying it across my lap. There are fingerprints all over it's once-pristine, glossy black cover, fingerprints that I'll have to wipe off before anyone finds the book. I don't want anyone thinking that Paris has made Dana Cruz a softie.

I flip open to the first page. It's the picture of Nicole and I on our first full day in room 101: I'm yelling at her and she's sitting on a chair, staring at me like I'm deranged. The caption reads, "Welcome to PCA, Dana". The next few pages are from our first month or so at PCA, just random shots where nobody is posing. Real life photography is what Zoey likes. Or liked, I should say; I don't know if she still does. There are a bazillion captions on each page, too: Zoey always went overboard with those.

Action shots from our basketball game against the boys, snapshots of the statue of the school's founder after Zoey "renovated" it; me thrusting Logan's head into a bowl of cereal after one too many repeats of "wanna make out?". The memory of that one still makes me laugh.

Audience pictures of Chase's play, Chase and Michael playing a heated game of Go Fish and photos of Drake Bell's fabulous concert. Zoey's super cool backpack ideas, our disc golf practices and the infamous school dance fiasco are also in here.

Not to mention quite a few pictures of Logan and I "dancing", surrounded by Zoey's stupid winking stickers. In the last section are snapshots of our beach party; where we got separated from the rest of our school but still managed to have a lot of fun on our own private beach. Y'know, once all the anxiety attacks were over. The last picture in this section is of Logan and I asleep in the sand, his arm over me. Of course, this resulted in a severe beating when I woke up and found him like this, but the picture's pretty cute.

In Zoey's mind, anyway.

I flip to the last page, completely immersed in memories. On the back cover (both sides), signatures are scrawled in every direction. Short messages from acquaintances, long letters from my closest friends; even Nicole's comments made(make) me happy. But I never told her, of course.

I kept in touch with everybody via e-mail, phone calls and letters, but I mostly received said things from Chase, Zoey and Logan, with the occasional mp3 file from Michael. On my birthday, everybody got together and sent me a web cast, with a giant card and everything. It was pretty mushy, but I was thankful. Returning to your former friends isn't so nerve-wracking when you know(hope) they still care about you.

I close my book and sigh contentedly. That book never fails to raise my spirits, not that I really need any uplifting right now. It's twelve seventeen and my cab is rolling steadily onto the campus of Pacific Coast Academy. Of course, I'm excited, but I'm not squirming in my seat or squealing with anticipation; I _do_ have an image to maintain, even through these tinted windows.

Alright, maybe one squirm. And a small squeal. But that's **it**.

Tyler, the cab driver, stops the car in front of the administration office and gets out, opening the door for me. I'm perfectly capable, but whatever.

"Thanks," I say as I step out onto the paved sidewalk, the scent of the ocean caressing my face. Oh yeah, it's definitely good to be back.

**× × ×**

So after a long, tedious meeting with Dean Rivers, during which I discovered that I'm not in the same room as Nicole and Zoey, I trudged along the corridors of our new dorm hall (Brenner or something? I dunno, I wasn't really listening) looking for room 104. Somehow Zoey ends up getting room 101 every year, no matter what hall, so it's safe to say that I'll be seeing her soon. So here I am, twelve twenty-nine, standing in front of room 104. The door is bright orange with a lime green trim. This is going to be an interesting year.

I knock, no answer. I knock again; empty. Suits me just fine. I pull my new key (compliments of the administration office) out of my pocket and insert it into the doorknob, twisting. The door clicks and I kick it open. Instantly relief floods through me; I won't be living with a complete stranger. Empty beakers sit neatly on the floor under tables and a fragrance that smells suspiciously like bananas and apples enters my nose. I'm boarding with Quinn.

I drag my bags into the spacious room and dump them on the nearby bed; I'm assuming the other one is Quinn's, as it has a llama stuffed animal. If it isn't her bed, I'm going to have to wonder why she puts random stuffed animals on empty beds.

I give the room a once-over, checking out Quinn's brainy decor. Tables are smothered in loose papers and bubbling vials; I don't dare to touch anything. I'm definitely gonna have to request my own personal design space. I let forth a small grin, thinking of everything that could possibly happen to me while living in this room in the upcoming year. My smile soon turns to a grimace, however, when I come across one unfortunate incident involving me, a pogo stick and a blue felt pen.

Ready to go searching, I take one last look around and find somebody looking at me on the far side of the room. I jump, holding a hand to my mouth as I realize it's my reflection. Damn I'm jumpy; I hadn't been counting on finding a mirror in here.

I venture closer, deciding to critique my appearance one last time before I leave. My favourite shoes, darkwash skinny jeans, long gray tank top, dark brown zip-up Hurley hoodie, white watch, mouth, nose, two eyes; perfect.

Except for this one piece of hair that won't stay down.

"Whatever, nobody will notice," I reassure myself, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off my thigh. Maybe I should have a gummy foot. Not that I'm nervous or anything. Rustling through my bag, I come across my aviators; black and flashy. Even holding them reminds me of of the small French boutique in which I bought them with some Parisian friends I made. Discarding the glasses (along with the memories) on the floor, I grope around the large interior of my carry-on, but to no avail.

Finally: just as I'm about to give up, my hand brushes smooth plastic.

"Aha!" I yell, grabbing the offending item and yanking it upward. The entire bag of gummy feet rips open, showering the room with delicious, colourful raindrops.

"Shit," I mumble as I scramble around, trying to locate every missing candy. I find them on the bookshelf, behind the chair, _under_ the chair, on the windowsill… wow, some mess I made. Confident that I've found them all, I drop them in the garbage can, looking at them forlornly.

"Sorry guys; I wish I could eat you, but it's not sanitary. Especially in this room," I say in condolence. I pick up the bag to discard all evidence and I feel something inside of it. Excitedly I withdraw the perpetrator: an orange gummy foot. I happily pop it in my mouth as I toss the bag in the wicker basket. Spotting my aviators on the floor, I ponder for a moment or two.

"May as well," I decide, picking them up and sliding them into place on the bridge of my nose. I walk towards the door and turn the knob, taking a deep breath, trademark smirk in place.

Twelve forty-two.

Look out PCA: Dana Cruz has arrived.

Again.

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Author's Note: **Okay, now Lola is up next for sure this time. The songs I mentioned (in order) are: Think It Over by Wave, MakeDamnSure by Taking Back Sunday, Going Away To College by Blink-182 and The Adventure by Angels and Airwaves, as well as one line from this last song at the beginning. 


	5. Assumptions: Lola

**Author's Note: **As I promised, here's how our favourite Drama Queen's day has unfolded.

**Disclaimer:** Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Assumptions: Lola  
_Thursday, November 9th, 2006 (12:42 pm)_

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So today started out as any other day; Zoey's alarm clock rang, we got up half an hour later, I enjoyed a hot, hasty shower. Call me psychic, but days that start out as any other day usually prove to be, well, days like any other day. 

Just past eight and I'd already made my first wrong assumption.

Zoe and I rushed off to History (Nicole had Art), grabbing some fresh fruit from the cafe on our way. Fortunately for us, we made it just in time. Unfortunately for us, everybody else in our class gets up when their alarm goes off, leaving the only available seating behind Logan. Grumbling about our misfortune, Zoey and I took our seats as the bell rang, signaling 8 o'clock. I scowled at her, my disapproval receiving a nod of sympathetic understanding.

I've always been told I'm a good actress.

Sitting behind Logan was exactly what I'd felt in the mood for that morning. I think I'm falling for him; falling for him hard. I came to this realization this morning between brushing my teeth and drying my hair. So, it was just my luck that I was forced to stare at the back of his head for the entirety of the class.

Ninety minutes later the bell rang and the classroom was instantly filled with kids rushing to get out of the hell-hole that is American History. Zoey and I, being much too wise and sophisticated to do the same, walked out the door a few minutes later; this, of course, had nothing to do with Zoey's binder popping open unexpectedly as we packed to leave, showering the classroom with her notes.

Next we had English, we meaning Zoey, Nicole, Chase, Logan and myself. Michael and Quinn had Math. In this morning's class, we were assigned groups for a project about 'Much Ado About Nothing' by none other than William Shakespeare. I'd acted in this play once, playing the role of Hero, Leonato's beautiful daughter.

Overall, this assignment appealed to me. For one thing, our final project would be a reenactment of two corresponding scenes. Secondly, my group consisted of Michelle (total ditz), Isaac (nice guy), Anthony (no comment), and finally, Logan. I pretty much figured this was turning out to be my lucky day.

Say hello to my second wrong assumption of the day.

We were left to read and discuss our interpretations of Act 1 within our groups. While we were all discussing the point of Act 1 (obviously the introduction to the main characters, the forming of relationships and misconceptions), Logan decided that we should just watch the movie and get it over with. I disagreed and we started arguing heatedly. The whole production reminded me of Beatrice and Benedick, two characters who are very competitive, yet secretly infatuated with one another.

After a while, the lunch bell rang and we all left the classroom, heading for our usual table on the patio. Nicole ran ahead, anxious to get the 'freshest bagel' and Logan stayed behind to talk to Mr. West so it was only Zoey, Chase and I. Needless to say, I felt like a third wheel. Thankfully, Quinn, Michael and Nicole (bagel in hand) were already eating when we arrived, Nicole chatting Michael's head off. A look of relief spread across his face when we joined them, mouthing a thank you to Chase. Logan soon arrived, and after a few minutes of gossiping, Zoey realized she'd forgotten something in the English class, so off she went to retrieve it.

As soon as Zoey was out of sight, the boys started talking about the Chase and Zoey dilemma. Honestly, can't they find anything else to talk about? Chase, getting the same answers from Michael and Logan, ignored their comments and asked us all for our opinions. Well, all of us with the exception of me. He probably still thinks I like him. Poor, naïve, bushy-haired kid.

Now that I think back on it, it looked like his hair had grown since yesterday. I wonder if Quinn had anything to do with it.

Nicole was off on a ramble (myself nodding along with her), and Logan and Chase left, probably driven away by the mindless blabbing. They're still not used to it, I guess. I dunno why; I almost am.

So here I am now; sitting at the table finishing off my grapes, watching Michael's facial expression as he listens to Nicole. It hasn't changed for close to three minutes. I won't bother telling Nicole he's not all there; she's not really talking for his sake, anyway.

"Hey guys, found my paper," Zoey says triumphantly as she slides onto a red plastic chair, waving her trophy at us before placting it on the table.

"HI ZOE! Ohmygosh, you'll never guess what happened! Guess! Come on, gu…"

"Uh, Lola?" she asks me, stopping a plum on its flight path to her mouth.

"Yeah?" I ask in reply, munching on my own purple fruit.

"Why is Michael looking at Nicole like that?"

"Oh," I say, grinning. "He's not actually listening… I think. He's been like that for a while now."

"Okay. For a second there, I thought Nicole had been saying something that made sense and I'd missed it," she jokes, taking a deep bite of her plum.

"Haha, nope. Not yet."

"Michael… Michael!" Zoey says loudly, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He blinks twice, looking up at her in confusion.

"Oh, hey Zoey. 'Sup?" he asks her groggily, looking around for, presumably, Chase. "Wait… where'd Chase go?" Bingo.

"He left with Logan a while ago. I met them on my way here, and Chase said something about coming to rescue you. So I suggest you go; I think he's starting to worry," Zoey informs him, following up her explanation with a sip of Blix.

Michael jumps up and gives Nicole a withering glare. "Aright, thanks Zoe. See you guys later." And with that, he leaves the table, taking the east exit.

"Why was he glaring at me like that? That's so mean," Nicole whines, her eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion.

Zoey laughs, shaking her head and glancing over mine for a second. Making a double take she stands up, abandoning her plum on the green tray.

"What, what?" Nicole and I both inquire, turning around in our seats and craning our necks to see what Zoey's staring at.

I don't see anything. Nicole, however, catches on.

"Oh my god," she whispers, almost inaudibly. "OH MY GOD!" No more whispering. She shrieks and jumps out of her seat, sprinting (there's something I never thought I'd see) towards… a girl.

As far as I can see, the girl's nothing special. She's standing alone in the middle of crowds of kids, some of them stopping to talk to her. Just-barely-shoulder length hair, aviator sunglasses, skinny jeans; like I said, nothing special.

Call me crazy, I've got a feeling I'm about to be proven wrong.

I can see Nicole latch onto the girl, laughing hysterically. The girl grabs her in a short hug and smiles back. A few seconds later and she's trying (failing) to pry Nicole off of her body. Then Zoey appears, helping with barnacle girl and giving the new kid a hug as well.

"Sure guys, I'd love to come meet somebody," I muse, watching the meeting unfold.

"Who are you speaking to, Lola?" I hear a voice behind me ask. Quinn. I'd completely forgotten she's still here with me.

"Zoey and Nicole," I tell her, turning around to start a conversation with my new best friend.

"But they can't hear you, they're off talking to that gir—" Quinn's sentence stops abruptly as she peers through her glasses.

"Sweet Mother of Alexander Graham-Bell!" she exclaims, leaving the table to follow after the other two who shall remain nameless. Oh joy unbounded, more greetings and exchanging of hugs for me to watch.

The four girls, who by the way are having a grand old time without me, start to make their way over to our table. What? What! This is _our_ table; **ours**. Oh no, they're not replacing me are they? They can't do this to me. Okay Lola, think. You need something smart to say when they break the news to you.

"Hey, Lola? We want yo-"

"I never liked you guys anyways!" I shout at Zoey, folding my arms and leaning back in my chair, a satisfied smirk on my face. That'll teach them not to mess with Lola Martinez.

"Um, okay?"

Wait, something's wrong; Zoey looks thoroughly confused.

Oh crap.

My fourth wrong assumption of the day; my third was suspecting that the girl wasn't all that important. If three strikes mean I'm out, I must be clear out of the ballpark by now.

"Sorry," I mumble. I try to retain my cool composure; actresses never let their emotions control them.

"Anyways… we want you to meet Dana Cruz. She was our roommate in eighth grade." Zoey says, flourishing her hand to show off Dana as if she were first prize on a game show.

Wait; _this_ is Dana Cruz? **The** Dana "Danger" Cruz? I've heard so many stories about her it's ridiculous. Even Nicole, who supposedly fought constantly with Dana, recited stories in such detail it made me feel as if I had been a witness to their entire eighth grade year. It also made me feel a bit like a nuisance; taking the place of their best friend and whatnot.

So here, standing in front of me, is the girl who had caused me about a two weeks worth of sleepless nights in my first month here, and Zoey wants me to _meet_ her? I had felt unwanted and disliked by the entire gang, simply because she had run off to France and I happened to live with her old roommates. I later learned that this wasn't true at all, but that's not the point. It still hurt.

"Oh, hey," I say, sticking out my hand. "Lola Martinez."

Taking off her sunglasses, she grasps the offered hand and shakes it. "Dana Cruz."

"So I've heard."

Dana turns to Nicole.

"You guys didn't tell her stories about me, did you?" she asks, rolling her eyes.

"Well, duh we did," Nicole replies, beaming. "I mean, you were our roommate, of course we told her about you. Like that time you and Logan got paired up for the dance? Wow, that was insane. You guys were soooo mad! And that time that we played disc golf, and we thought Michael was dead, so you were all like "Are you dead?" and he was all…"

My ears start to burn as Nicole talks about the unfortunate dance pairings. I had almost succeeded in forgetting that. Dana stares at Nicole and shakes her head, turning back to me.

"Did she seriously tell you all those stories?" she asks me, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmm… nope, can't say I've heard much about you at all," I say, lying through my teeth.

I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that her best friends – excuse me, **old** best friends – talked about her for hours.

Okay, so maybe I'm being a bit harsh.

"Lola! Don't listen to her Dana, we didn't instantly forget about you. I'm sure we told Lola all sorts of things about you," Zoey tells Cruz, giving me a look. Dana, probably remembering how Zoey always tries to step in and spare everybody's feelings, interrupts her.

"Zoe, forget it. I don't care if you talked about me or not. I'm here now," she says, placing a hand on her hip and smirking.

"'Kay, but seriously, we did talk about you. A lot," Zoey reassures her, looking to Nicole for back-up. Nicole nods. Only nods?

We all look at her expectantly. She doesn't say anything, so we stare harder.

"What?" she asks nervously, eyes shifting back and forth.

"Never mind," I say, thoroughly exasperated with this whole situation. I jam my headphones into my ears dramatically and pretend to switch my mp3 player on. I stare off into space and throw in a bit of finger tapping to add to the impression that I can't hear them anymore.

"Drama Queen?" Dana asks, sunglasses dangling on one finger.

Zoey shakes her head as she swallows her sip of water.

"Actress."

"Ah."

Cruz makes plans for later and leaves with a wave, probably looking for more of her old chums.

I switch on my music for real and scoff. Nicole gives me a look so I move my head from side to side, pretending I'm into the music while thoughts start forming in my mind.

So, Dana Cruz is back, eh?

This is the start of an interesting friendship.

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Author's Note:** And there you have it; my last chapter for two or so weeks. Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough, hopefully with the next four chapters just waiting to be uploaded. 


	6. Mango Peach: Nicole

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, I'm back from vacation. Thanks for all your reviews! Unfortunately, while I was away I didn't spend much time writing so I only have a chapter and a half done for now. So here's the chapter, and I'll work on the half. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Mango Peach: Nicole  
_Thursday, November 9th, 2006 ( 6:08 pm)_

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"…so then I said that I didn't actually order the mango pineapple, I ordered the mango _peach_ and he was being a total jerk about it. I mean, how hard is it to hear peach? It doesn't sound like pineapple. Do you think it sounds like pineapple? Yeah, me neither. Anyways, so what kind of smoo–" 

A sudden vibration in my pocket, accompanied by a cute little melody, nearly gives me a heart attack. Heartbeat racing, I pull my phone out of my pocket, glimpsing at the caller id.

"Sorry, I have to take this. Five minutes?" I explain to Liam Carlson, the very blonde, very cute boy sitting in front of me. He's in my English class, which I had this morning, and we happened to be put in the same group so we made plans for later. I think the meeting had something to do with our project, but who really knows.

"Sure thing. I'll just get you a smoothie… mango peach okay?" he teases, flashing me a grin.

I giggle and nod, holding up a finger and walking outside. He's sooooo cute. And he was listening! I have to remember to tell Zoey that… it might mean something.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Oh shoot, right. My phone. Wow, Dana must be getting really mad.

I flip it open and press Accept. "Hey!"

"What took you so long to answer?"

"Sorry Dana! I'm at the Smoothie Shack with Liam Carlson – do you remember him? – and we were talking about smoothies and I was telling him a story about this one time, when I ordered a smoothie and the guy behind the counter messed up my order and blamed _me_ for it! Can you believe that?"

I hear her cough. "No. That's awful."

"I know, right? Anyways, so I was telling Liam this story when my phone rang – you almost gave me a heart attack by the way – and so I had to leave to take the call obviously, so I told him I'd be back and he said he'd buy me a mango peach smoothie. And the best part is that's my favourite kind!"

"…and?"

"And that means he was listening to me tell my story! 'Cos that was the kind that the stupid guy mixed up for mango pineapple. Ew, who drinks mango pineapple anyway. OHMIGOSH, do you know what it means if a guy listens to what you're saying?" I can't believe I hadn't thought to ask Dana until now. Pfft, why wait for Zoey?

"Uhh, I dunno. There are probably a lot of reasons."

Right, that's why I was waiting to ask Zoey.

"Oh, okay. I'll talk to you later, 'kay? BYYE DANA!"

"NICOLE, WAIT!"

What? But Liam's waiting for me… I can see him looking at me. I'm gonna wave at him. Hii Liam. Oh, he's so _cute_!

"What?"

"I called you, remember?" she says. I can picture her rolling her eyes right now.

"Oh, right. Okay, so why were you calling?"

"I'm with Zoey and she said to call you because we're all meeting at Sushi Rox at 6:30 for dinner."

"6:30? Okay, gotcha. Is that all?" I hope it is. I like Dana and all, but Liam's so... boyish. And cute.

"Yeah; see you in a half hour."

"Okay, bye! Oh and Dana, did something happen to you in Paris?"

"Uh, nothing extreme. Why?"

"Because you're being all nice to me."

"Give me a break here; it's my first day back. Trust me, it'll wear off by tomorrow." A click signals the end of the conversation.

Okay, that's better. It was getting a little freaky with her being nice and all. At least she didn't wish me luck with Liam; that would have meant the end of the universe was coming. An apoca-whatsit. Ohmygosh… she didn't wish me luck with Liam. That's so mean.

I close my phone and slip back inside the air-conditioned building. I scoot over to the counter and perch on the red-vinyl stool, smiling sheepishly at Liam.

"Sorry, that was probably more than five minutes," I apologize, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. "I feel so bad now. And you even ordered me a smoothie!"

He nods and pushes the orange fruit drink towards me, staring at my hair twisting. Oh no, does he think I'm weird because I do that? I should stop. I free my finger from my hair and pull the bright green straw towards me, taking a sip of the delicious frozen drink. Okay, good, he's looking at my face again. Oh no, is there something _on_ my face now? Shoot, shoot…

Liam clears his throat and shakes his head – why?

"Uh, Nicole," he starts, rubbing his palm on his thigh. I follow his gaze and stare at his pants. His jeans are really nice; not baggy, not light wash. They're nice, normal boy pants. But they're better because they're his. I look back up at his face, the look on his face clearly pointing out that he wasn't just saying my name for the sake of it.

I mouth an 'oh' and sit quietly, sipping my drink. Mmm, peach…

"So, Nicole," he starts over, now tapping his fingers on the counter. I force myself to look into his eyes. It's not that hard actually, they're a really pretty hazel… Uh-oh, he's talking. Focus, Nicole; focus.

"…urday, like maybe a movie? I mean, if you want to and all. If you don't think of me that way then we can both just leave and pretend this never happened." Liam looks at me expectantly.

I just stare at him. Oh. My. God. Is he asking me out?

"Are you asking me out?"

He grins nervously, running a hand through his hair. His blonde, shiny hair…

"Uh,yeah, I guess I am," he laughs. I laugh along with him, not entirely sure why. Maybe he's crazy. Oh well, he's cute, it evens out.

"Okay, sure!" I say, grinning at him. I can't believe it; Liam Carlson just asked me out! _And_ he bought me a smoothie. Wow, he's a keeper.

"Great, that's great," he exclaims, letting out a deep breath. We sit there looking at each other and smiling for… some time. Out of habit I look over his head at the clock mounted on the wall: 6:19.

"Oh shoot!" I yell (whoops) as I jump down from the stool, grabbing my purse off the counter.

"What? What's wrong?" Liam asks, looking around him nervously. "Did you mean to say no or something?"

"Oh, no, not that; I will go to a movie with you," I reassure him. He's so cute when he's nervous. "It's just that I'm supposed to be meeting my friends at Sushi Rox in, like, five minutes for dinner because my friend Dana is back from Paris. She came to PCA for eighth grade but went to Paris for freshman year but she didn't like it so she came back. And now I'm going to be late for dinner with her and – "

Liam interrupts me. "Chill out, Nicole. I'll take you there and we'll walk really fast, okay?"

I nod, out of breath.

"Okay, let's go." He slides off his own stool and grabs my hand, leading me out of the Smoothie Shack, my half-finished mango peach smoothie sitting abandoned on the counter. We race through the campus, whizzing by my dorm, the statue of PCA's founder and the basketball courts, me checking the time on my cellphone every few seconds.

Spotting Sushi Rox with two minutes to kill, Liam and I slow down. This is about when I realize that he's still holding my hand. I slowly look up at him, trying to maintain a steady breathing level to show that I'm in shape. He's the captain of the lacrosse team, so he's a jock, so obviously he'd want to think that I'm an athlete too, right? Then we could go on jogs on the beach in the morning, have races in the pool, play horseshoes…

"Oh, who am I kidding?" I proclaim, holding a hand to my forehead. I hope I'm not sweaty, that would be sooo gross. Oh my god, what if he can see me sweating? He probably wants to date an athlete, but not a sweaty athlete!

"Who are you kidding about what?" he asks me, looking into my eyes quizzically. Shoot, he heard that. I guess I deserve it; after all, I'm kind of lying because I never told him I don't do sports. Even thinking about them makes my stomach hurt.

"Well Liam, the thing is I… oh, I can't lie to you anymore; you're too cute. Okay, the truth is… I suck at sports!" I cringe, squeezing my eyes shut so I don't have to see the look on his face. Oh no, he's not answering! I knew it, I knew I should have—wait, he's not answering. What?

I open one eye to see him laughing silently to himself.

"Okay, that's just mean. I just told you the worst thing I could have possibly ever told you, and you're just laughing about it? How can you not take this seriously?" I demand angrily, tapping my shoe on the ground. My shoes are new and supercute: grape Jimmy Choo velvet sandals. I bought them in August at the outlet store with Zoey and Lola.

"Nicole," Liam says, stopping his laughing abruptly (almost insincerely). "I don't care that you don't play sports; truth is, lacrosse is the only sport I can play. I'm useless at everything else. I can't even throw a Frisbee straight."

Hey, me neither.

"I didn't ask you out because I thought we could play tennis together or work on our layups. I asked you out because I think you're amazing. You're gorgeous, funny, sweet and… I really like you, Nicole."

Aww, he's blushing! That is **so** cute! I think I'm in love.

"I really like you too, Liam," I say, smiling at him shyly and squeezing his hand.

He clears his throat, still blushing. "Okay, so I'll pick you up at 6 on Saturday."

"'Kay."

He leans down and kisses my cheek before letting go of my hand and strolling away, giving me a small wave. I wave back, grinning at his retreating back: bye Liam. I giggle, twirling around and flouncing into Sushi Rox. Everybody's sitting around the table already so I must be late, but I don't really care. If I had been on time, I would have kept all my feelings inside and broken up with Liam in a week because of my sports insecurity.

"Life is wonderful, isn't it?" I ask dreamily, sliding into a seat next to Logan who's stealing glances at Dana who's talking to Michael who's drinking Lola's drink who's glaring at Logan. If I wasn't up on Cloud Nine I'd be analyzing this situation right now.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Zoey says, putting down her menu. I don't know why she even bothers looking at the menu anymore; she's ordered the California roll ever since that time she'd ordered the tempura roll and Sushi Rox had burned down. "But why's it so fantastic tonight?"

"Liam," I respond, gazing up at the light and sighing. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Lola stop her glare-fest and open her mouth to (presumably) ask what happened with Liam. I also see Chase touching her arm and shaking his head. I'll have to remember to ignore him for a few days.

Liam. Mmmm. I can see it now: we'll have a mansion in Beverly Hills, we'll dine at the fanciest restaurants overlooking the city. We'll stargaze from the Hollywood sign. Wait, that's not illegal, is it? I hope not; that would definitely lower the romantic factor. On the other hand, most illegal stuff apparently gives you a thrill. But is a thrill romantic if it isn't a romance-induced thrill?

"..cole.. Nicole.."

Huh?

"Nicole!"

"What?" I ask, eyes wide; so much for my daydream.

"We've been calling you for at least a minute" Dana's face looms in front of my own. "Are you gonna order or should we let you starve?"

I look to my left and see Kazu looking at me expectantly from behind the counter.

"Oh, right, sorry about that." I pick up my menu and search for something that looks relatively tasty. "Uhhh, I'll have the avocado and shrimp salad." Kazu nods and starts up a new fryer for our sushi.

"So, like I was saying, the girls have their own basketball team now. Coach Gunn finally decided that there were too many talented girls who wanted to play, so he got Ms. Reynolds to start a girl's team," Zoey was explaining to Dana.

"Which is pointless," Logan interrupts, leaning back in his chair as usual. I recognize that tone of voice: he's baiting Dana, just like he used to. I doubt she'll take that one lying down.

"Excuse me?" One point for Nicole. "Why, exactly, is it so pointless for there to be a girl's basketball team? We needed our own team; you _boys_ were slowing us down. The only reason we never won the state championships was because you missed the last shot, remember?"

"Ooh, sounds like I hit a nerve," Logan remarks, smirking. "I think it's pointless, sweetheart, because first of all, that whole thing about there being too many talented girls? Bull; there were six, tops. Secondly, they would have been better off to stay on our team, because despite what you say about us 'slowing you down', it's better to have a completely talented team rather than a half-and-half. And of course, we were this close to sharing a locker room."

He holds his fingers an inch apart and Dana rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair.

"Whatever, pretty boy. No matter what you say or how confidently you say it, we both know I'm right. That much hasn't changed."

"Neither has the arguing," I add, sipping my ice water. "I mean, you guys have been separated for, what, one year? The first day back and you guys are already bickering. How many fights have you honestly had since you first saw each other today?"

Dana looks at Logan and vice verse. I can see their brains ticking as they stare at each other, picking through the day's events.

"Five," Logan says slowly, uncertainly.

"No, it was six; remember, we had one before Nicole came in?" Dana interjects, biting a fingernail.

"Right, right," Logan says, gazing at her a little too long before turning to Michael. "So, Mike, did you watch the game this afternoon? I missed it."

The sushi arrives, along with my salad, and everybody digs in, Logan and Michael continuing their sports conversation. I munch on a chunk of avocado thoughtfully, reviewing the recent conversation. Well, Dana's back, so that means superjerkboy Logan is back. Oh joy unbounded.

Oh well, if things get too heated I always have Liam.

That reminds me; if today is Thursday, that means our one week anniversary is next Thursday. Only seven days, I'm so excited! Ohmygosh, is he going to get me a present? Should I get him one? If I'm going to, I should probably shop around on Saturday… no, wait, that's our date! Oh no, do I need to get him something for Saturday? That only leaves tomorrow and Lola's scheduled to give me a manicure at four! Maybe I can work around it...

Oh. My. God – what am I going to wear?

**

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**Author's Note:** Okay, so there's Nicole's two cents. I'm trying to get through everybody's point of view at least once to make the story more interesting. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, the next chapter belongs to none other than Zoey Brooks.


	7. Fresh Jealousy: Zoey

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, this is my first update in a while, as you may have noticed. I had a huge case of writer's block for about ten days, but the other day I was suddenly super inspired, so you can expect maybe two more chapters to be posted pretty quickly after this one. Anyway, this chapter is from Zoey's point of view. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Fresh Jealousy: Zoey  
_Monday, November 13th, 2006 (7:14 am)_

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_

Beeeeeep, beeeeeep, beeeeeep… BEEEEEEEEP.

"WILL SOMEBODY TURN THAT GODDAMN THING OFF!"

Groggily I open my eyes to see Nicole, yawning, stretching and complaining incoherently about the time. A pair of eyes staring at me from under a mass of blankets tells me that Lola's wide awake as well. I blink, my eyesight adjusting to the bright daylight poring into our lavender room through the gap in the curtains.

"Who s'd that?" I mumble sleepily, rubbing my eyes with a free hand as I stretch my left arm upwards. My friends simply look back at me, clearly as confused as I am.

"I thought it was you," offers Nicole finally, slowly. "Then I thought that if it _was_ you, I wouldn't talk to you for awhile 'cause you're obviously in a bad mood. And bad moods are suckish… but it wasn't you?"

I shake my head and stand up slowly, slipping my feet into my periwinkle slippers and checking the clock mounted on our wall: seven fourteen. Well, now we have at least one reason to be thankful for the interruption: we probably wouldn't have woken up at all if it wasn't for the yelling, and the beeping and the… noise.

"Wait, our alarm clock is being repaired by Quinn… so what was that beeping sound?" Lola asks, poking her head out from her fort, eyebrows furrowed. I gaze thoughtfully at the door; she's got a point there. Suddenly, the outburst comes again, startling us out of our trance-like state that comes hand in hand with waking up.

"QUINN! HOW THE HELL D'YOU TURN THIS OFF!"

Dazed, I turn my attention towards the wall separating our room and Quinn's. A smile slowly spreads across my face and soon I'm sitting on the floor laughing deliriously. Nicole puts her ear to the wall and grins, giggling to herself. I lean against my bedframe, rubbing my eyelids sleepily.

"What's so funny?" Lola asks, pressing her ear to the wall and evidently hearing nothing.

Nicole and I look at each other before replying in unison.

"Dana."

--------

"I dunno how you guys heard me; I wasn't yelling that loudly," mumbles Dana into her steaming coffee cup. We're sitting on the bleachers by the basketball court with the rest of the upper school. Dean Rivers has arranged an assembly for this morning, meaning we don't have first class. That's actually kind of a relief, 'cause I didn't do my History homework.

I know, I know: Zoey Brooks not doing her homework? Definite apocalypse, right? It's just that with Dana getting back and all, there was no time to worry about school. Besides, what life skills can I possibly achieve from colouring a map of France?

"Dana, the people at my old school in _Kansas_ probably heard you," Nicole teases as she glances around the basketball court, searching for somebody. Somebody named Liam.

"Found Liam yet?" I ask her in a sing-song voice, smiling broadly.

"Pfft, Liam? I'm not looking for Liam," she scoffs. Lowering her voice, she asks in a rushed voice, "Why, have you seen him? And if you did, how come you didn't tell me? He's my almost boyfriend you know."

"Relax Nicole, I'm just teasing," I say with a laugh. I stare up at the morning sky: pale grey and not a cloud in the sky. Chilly breezes sweep by us, causing the entire student body to shiver in unison. I search the horizon for any sign of the absent sun, and instead spot the guys walking through the gate. I wave over at them, trying to catch their eye.

"Chase, Logan! Michael!" Chase's head snaps up, looking around wildly for whoever called his name. He turns to Michael and says something, to which Michael shakes his head. He then helps Chase search the crowd. Logan, following their cue, starts to look around as well. He glances straight at me before moving his gaze along our little group, stopping occasionally. God, he is such a moron. By now, all three boys are standing in the middle of the court like giant bobble heads. I look at Nicole and Lola, an amused smile on my lips.

"Here, allow me… LOGAAAAN!" Lola hollers loudly. Logan jumps a bit, looking over at her with a scowl and raising his hands in a shrug. We point to the empty seats around us, showing them we had saved spots. That's one good thing about being punctual; you get first choice of seating.

"**Finally**. How'd you learn to yell that loudly?" I ask her, watching as the guys walk up the stairs, led by a mass of bushy hair that I'm assuming has a body under it somewhere.

"Stage Camp in Chicago when I was eleven," she explains simply, grinning. The bush of hair takes a seat next to me, yawning dramatically.

"Morning," I greet, grinning at him. "Get much sleep last night?"

"Well, last night started out nicely enough. My bed was warm, Michael wasn't snoring and it was really peaceful. Pretty soon, I was sleeping the best sleep I've had in a **very** long time," he replies, his eyes glazing over as he thinks back on it. He's too cute.

"So what's with the yawning then?"

Chase clears his throat and runs a hand through his curls. "Well, I had a dream that I was the ringleader in a circus of animal crackers, and they were all really great, especially the seals. Man, are they ever good at the trapeze. Anyway, just as the elephant was about to walk the tightrope, somebody yelled really loudly and I almost fell out of bed. It woke us all up and we couldn't figure out where it was coming from."

"Wait, what time was this at?" I ask with a mischievous glance at Dana, who has suddenly become very interested in her caramel macchiato.

"Geez, I dunno… maybe quarter after seven? I was planning to sleep in until 7:50, so the yawns are a result of forty minutes of sleep deprivation," Chase answers, looking up at the sky in thought. A slight breeze passes by us, ruffling the curls in his hair.

"Well I'm sorry that Quinn makes weird, industrial strength alarm clocks with no off button!" Dana retorts grumpily, glaring at Quinn, who in turn shrugs.

"It's not my fault you didn't wear the earmuffs I gave you last night," she says matter-of-factly, adjusting her glasses. She runs a hand through her hair, dislodging several brightly coloured feathers. Scowling, she places them back in her locks randomly, not seeming to care that she's just succeeded in making herself look like a disgruntled peacock.

"That was you!" Chase exclaims, his face the very picture of bewilderment. "But you're, like, four buildings away from us!"

"I've never heard that kind of language," Michael chimes in, nodding his head admiringly. "What a lady!"

"Oh be quiet. I doubt you'd be happy to hear an air raid signal at seven in the freaking morning," Dana mutters.

"See, Dana? If the guys heard, the people in Kansas _must_ have heard you," Nicole chirps. She peers inquisitively at the gates momentarily before letting out an ear-piercing shriek. We all cover our ears and look at her in confusion. I follow her gaze to the basketball court, where she's apparently caught somebody else's attention.

"He's here, he's here!" she squeals, clapping her hands. "Wait, guys, I forgot to ask. Is it okay if he sits with us?" Her eyes widen as she gives us her best wounded puppy face.

"Whatever," Logan says, raising his eyebrows at her outburst. Liam climbs the stairs up to where we're sitting and utters a small hello, taking a seat next to Nicole. She grins at him and taps her fingers on her thighs, something she does only when she's ecstatic. Blushing, Liam reaches for her hand and takes a hold of it. His face is the colour of a tomato and hers is the picture of bliss.

I nudge Lola's right arm and nod in their direction.

"They're so cute," I whisper, waiting for an agreement. She nods half-heartedly and mutters something about… something.

"Hey, what's up?" I ask her, giving her a look. She shakes her head and gazes over at Nicole and Liam forlornly. Something must be bothering her, she seems pretty preoccupied.

A fizzle of microphone feedback buzzes through the speakers and we all turn our attention to the small stage that has been set up. Dean Rivers is standing rather impatiently on the platform, watching us all in exasperation. Liam, Nicole, Quinn, Dana and Logan all turn around and face forward. The stragglers rush to the bleachers, searching for empty seats.

"Good morning students, I trust you slept well." He pauses, waiting for a chorus of "Yes, Dean Rivers." His anticipation is wasted; the only answer he receives is Michael snorting irritably. Dean Rivers clears his throat and continues on with his speech. "This morning, we have a very special guest indee…"

"I heard someone mumble my name last night," Logan says in a low, suggestive voice as the Dean babbles on. "Was that you too?"

Dana smacks his arm and he holds a hand to it his bicep, smirking at her, defiance in his eyes. I can't see her expression, but I can bet she's rolling her eyes.

"It was probably your ego," she replies quietly, trying in vain to shut him up.

"Don't think so. I've got superhero hearing, you know," he retorts, pointing to his earlobe.

"Hmmph, more like super_zero_," Lola mutters, staring impassively at Dean Rivers as he drones on. I'll bet our "very special guest speaker" is standing somewhere behind the curtains, getting pretty impatient that they haven't been called up yet. We all stifle giggles at this statement while Logan turns around to glare at her.

"Whatever. You're just jealous," he says matter-of-factly before redirecting his attention to the very blonde girl sitting in front of him. Cheyenne… Elderton, I think it is? He's been flirting outrageously with her for a week, and she's been falling for every line of his for a year.

Dana, laughing silently, turns her head and gives Lola a smirk in what I'm guessing is gratitude; you never know with Dana. She returns the gesture until Dana faces forward once more. Lola's smirk then turns into a grimace that disappears almost as quickly as it surfaced. I nudge her and she glances at me.

"What?" she mouths, raising her eyebrows. I open my mouth to reply, but think better of it at the last second. I shake my head and she turns away from me, shrugging her shoulders.

Maybe Logan has finally made a point: maybe Lola _is_ jealous.

But what's she jealous of?

--------

"You like Logan," I guess, in an accusatory tone. She stiffens and gives me a look that suggests that I belong in a strait-jacket.

"What are you talking about, Zoe?" she asks, continuing to sharpen her pencil. The colour matches her hair today: a rather venomous shade of green. The assembly ended half an hour ago (I still have no idea who the guest speaker was) and we're now in English class, working on our Shakespeare projects.

"You know what I'm talking about," I say, giving her a chance to admit it. When she doesn't, I add, "I'm not crazy."

She sighs and glances around, lowering her voice. "Can we not talk about this now?"

"Oh come one Lola, nobody's listening," I say. I'm not entirely sure of that, but it's not that big of a deal anyway. Every girl likes Logan or has at one point. Yeah, even me. But hey, that was a long time ago, I'm way past it. I'm leaning more towards the tall, skinny type now; muscles are way overrated.

"Okay, but promise you won't tell anyone?" she asks me pleadingly, biting her bottom lip.

"Promise."

"Okay, you're right," she says softly, staring at her pencil, reduced to an inch by this point. She takes a deep breath and sighs, fiddling with the sharp lead of her writing implement. "What does he see in her?"

I have to admit, I'm kind of taken aback by this. What is she talking about?

"Cheyenne?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. I can see Chase staring at me, trying to catch my gaze. He does, and he beckons me back to the group. I hold up a finger and return my gaze to Lola. She shakes her head and continues to stare at her nub of a pencil.

If not Cheyenne, then what was she so upset about in assembly? I know for a fact that she's happy for Nicole that Liam's her boyfriend, and it's not like Logan was flirting with anyone else… oh damn.

I let out a sigh and place an arm around my friend's shoulders.

"Dana?" I offer, giving her a small squeeze. She hesitates and nods slowly. Logan has now joined Chase in the 'Let's-get-mad-at-Zoey' staring game. He's probably wondering why his group member is "fraternizing with the enemy", as he has so affectionately addressed my relationship with Lola since this project started.

I leave Lola by the bookcase with an "I'll be back" and walk up to Mr. West's desk. I clear my throat to catch his attention; he looks up at me questioningly.

"Yes, Ms. Brooks?"

"Mr. West, can Lola and I go outside for a moment?" I ask, desperately groping for a reason in case he asks. He probably will, and I should have anticipated it. Sometimes (rarely), I just don't think enough in advance.

"About your projects?" he asks me, studying my facial expressions. I nod in what I hope is a convincing manner and wait patiently as he scrutinizes me. To maintain my cool composure I stare at his polo: a neutral yellow with powder blue stripes and a popped collar.

"Uh… sure. Just, be back in a minute or two, okay?" he answers distractedly, returning his attention to the mass of ungraded papers on his desk. He picks up a red pen and motions me away with a wave of his hand.

"Thanks." Thankfully, Mr. West is a pretty easy-going teacher. He's not that old, maybe only 26, so he probably can remember what it's like to be our age. I walk back to Lola and take her arm, leading her to the pale green door. She looks at me expectantly.

"Come on," I order, shooting a withering glare at Chase and Logan. "I'll tell you the whole story."

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note:** Okay, well personally I'm not sure if I captured Zoey's personality very well. But that's okay, I'll hopefully get better as time goes on. And just a note for all you Chase and Zoey shippers out there, don't worry, this isn't an exclusive Dana and Logan story, there will be some more Chase and Zoey as it continues. Plus, if you reread this chapter, you may find some hints of that that weren't apparent the first time...


	8. Court Company: Logan

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, sorry about the wait. I've been pretty busy lately, so I've had literally no time for relaxing and doing what I want to. But somehow I've found a way, so here's the new chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Court Company: Logan  
_Friday, November 18th, 2006 ( 7:22 pm)_

* * *

_  
Smack_. 

The sound of the basketball slamming against the concrete ricochets through my mind, echoing, empowering. With each step I come closer to the basket, the quick crash of the ball against the pavement matching the pace of the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

_Wham_.

I fake right and sidestep quickly, pulling up and releasing. With a swift, fluid motion the ball sails onto the rim and topples through the basket. I sprint to catch the ball once more, the crowd in my head going wild for my latest shot.

Grabbing hold of the ball I try my hand at a reverse lay up, pounding the ball once, twice, shot… and he misses the basket by at least a foot, something I can't afford to do. Coach told me that I need to improve, or my chances of making the team this year will be slim to none. Of course, I kept his 'advice' to myself; everybody expects me to be the best. And hey, who can blame them?

Pushing the failure out of my head, I clear my mind, focusing on the ball and the basket. Standing at the foul line, I position the ball above my forehead, visualizing the orange sphere cutting neatly through the chain link basket. Knees bent, teeth grinding, sweat dripping down my forehead, I hold the ball steady, ready to release…

"Ogni talento matta," muses an undoubtedly female voice, causing me to leap about a foot into the air. Startled, I turn in the direction of this declaration, only to be frozen to the spot when I stand face to face with _her_.

She's perching cross-legged on one of the many metal bleachers surrounding the basketball court, staring intently at the plexiglass backboard of the hoop. The steady pace of my heartbeats quickly picks up, threatening to batter a hole through my chest. Those lips, those eyes: that girl. I don't even attempt to look away; it would be close to impossible. She takes no notice of my gaze.

I hold the ball securely under my arm, face flushed from the exercise.

"What?" I ask between panting breaths.

"Ogni talento matta," she repeats.

"Yeah, I got that. But what is it supposed to mean?" More than a year apart (not counting the past few days) and she still treats me like a simpleton.

"Every talented man is a madman," she translates, eyes unblinking and still focused on the painted lines of the backboard.

I raise an eyebrow at this comment, coincidentally at the exact moment that her eyes lower until they're staring straight into mine.

This is the part where I pretend I'm not transfixed.

"Offended?" she questions, a half-smirk forming on her face.

"Not in the least," I shoot back. "I _am_ talented, after all."

I take a shot as if to prove my point. The ball misses the basket by at least two feet.

She snorts – I shrug it off.

"I'm talented in other areas as well," I say suggestively, leading her on.

She rolls her eyes, taking the bait. "Like what; being arrogant?"

"Well, yeah. I'm also spectacular at making out…" I pause, awaiting a reaction.

And there it is. Dana groans, aware of what she's gotten herself into. Me.

"So… wanna make out?" I ask her, flashing a winning smile.

"I've been sitting here not even fifteen minutes, and you're already posing that question?"

"You should be looking at it as you've been gone a year and four months and the offer's still open," I point out. The offer's still open, and I want it more than ever, is what I mean to say. But I don't.

"No thanks, I'm good for now," she replies, leaning back and resting her elbows on the bleacher behind her.

"Your loss, sweet cheeks," I answer with a carefree air, though inside I'm somewhat crushed. I'd forgotten how being rejected by Dana Cruz feels. On the bright side, however, I have all the time in the world to be reacquainted with it. She's not leaving again if I have any say in the matter. Which I will.

I launch the ball again, resuming my game. This time, my efforts are rewarded with a swish. Two more points for Logan Reese. The rebound hits a crack in the ground at an odd angle, sending it spinning towards the sidelines. I watch as it rolls to a stop by Dana's bag. She looks down; her interest has definitely been piqued.

Not my intention, but hey, who am I to argue with fate?

She looks at me, eyebrow raised. I smirk: a challenge. She leaves her sitting position and grabs the ball, inspecting it for… I'm not exactly sure. She's always done that; sort of a ritual, I guess.

Dana approaches me, eyes never leaving the sphere as she twirls it in her fingers. She stops directly in front of me. I can feel my palms growing damp as a result of our proximity; she's too close for comfort.

Then again, I never said I wanted to be comfortable.

Oh no. She's bringing out that grin. Mischievous, crafty, alarmingly attractive: a grin that never fails to bring me to my knees (figuratively speaking, of course).

"Want to make it interesting?"

--------

20 seconds left on the clock; she fakes right, dribbles up the side of the key and bounces the ball at the box. I block it all with ease. Nine seconds left. She fakes right again. I block again. Seven seconds. She reverse pivots, I… don't block? What the hell?

She shoots, and with 3 seconds left, an orange blur sails through the netting, landing the score at 24-18.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Final buzzer and I, Logan Reese, have just been defeated by a girl. A French girl, who I now owe breakfast for a week.

I slowly bend to pick up the ball, desperately trying to wipe the look of dismay off my face. Hurry up, hurry up. The sound of footsteps grows louder; come _on. _She can't see me like this; she'd get too much satisfaction. Two feet donning apple green slip-on Vans appear before my face.

Too late.

I make one last attempt and stand up, stretching.

Dana stands directly in front of me, arms crossed. She's grown since I've last seen her, but I've grown more. She stifles a laugh as I stretch my arms behind my head.

"Nice try, Reesey boy," she snickers. I look on innocently.

"Nice try? I don't understand what you're talking about."

She sighs, shaking her head. "You haven't changed, have you?"

"Depends; does that make you happy?" I grin at her, rotating my head to release the tension built up in my neck.

"No, guess you haven't," she remarks, answering her own question.

"Haha, very funny. So, what was all that talk about 'nice try'?" I ask her, noting the sun just beginning to set behind her. The sky is tinged with magenta and saffron, the sun a blazing tangerine.

"First of all: nice try in the game. I mean, I'm impressed you tried so hard when it was obviously a given that I would win."

Sounds to me like somebody else hasn't changed much either.

"And secondly, you can stop flexing your muscles. It's got no effect on me whatsoever," she finishes, smiling smugly at me.

I drop the ball and impulsively grab her wrist, pulling her slender, muscled frame into my own. She starts at this sudden contact, unwilling to relax in my arms. I can feel her pulse racing on the underside of her wrist. Pretty jumpy for somebody who I have "no effect on whatsoever". I lean my head down towards hers.

"Bull. Shit." I whisper into her ear, taking in the fresh scent of her raspberry shampoo. They say the sense of smell is one of the strongest ties to memory. Upon breathing in this familiar aroma, I have to agree.

My hands are dipping into the small of her back, pressing her to me. Her hands do not touch me; instead they lie at her sides, fingers fidgeting. I'm not really surprised that she isn't at ease in my hold; it is, after all, Dana Cruz. And I'm Logan Reese.

Odd coupling, I'd think.

She pulls away slightly, leaving room for her hands to rise up and rest on my chest. From the look in her eyes, I'm sure she's noticed the thudding of my heart. She pushes me away from her and I, reluctantly, bend to her will.

She's standing in front of me, running a hand through her cropped hair.

"Bullshit to your bullshit," she says finally, turning to walk away.

What? I'm speechless - dumbfounded, even. Why am I surrounded by insane people? I watch as she walks off the court, her stride a tiny bit less confident than usual.

"Th-that doesn't even make _sense_!" I yell after her. She lifts a hand over her shoulder and waves, without so much as a glance backwards. I take a seat on the bleachers, scrutinizing the sunset. It's captivating; powerful, seductive and amazingly defiant. Not to be outdone by the moon, the sun puts up one final display before falling into oblivion. Every night, without fail.

The whole show reminds me of her, to tell the truth. She makes a scene then promptly disappears. But just like the sun, I know she'll be back. I think back briefly to the sensation of her tanned hands on my chest and how they rested there, unafraid of my increasing heartbeat.

I should really stop thinking so much. I've got a reputation to uphold.

"Oh yeah," I say confidently, grinning as I walk off the court, ball under my arm. "She still wants me."

That's more like it.

* * *

**  
Author's Note:** Alright, so there you have it. You've just briefly gotten inside the mind of Logan Reese. Weird, isn't it? The next chapter is pretty much written, I just have to edit a bit more. But I promise, the wait won't be so long this time. Talk to you soon. 


	9. Twilight Sharing: Chase

**Author's Note:** Whoa, I'm really sorry about the (more than a) month long wait. I kept reminding myself to get on with it and finish this chapter, but things kept getting in the way. I promise I'll try to update regularly from now on. You can hold me to that. I hope.

**Disclaimer:** Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Twilight Sharing: Chase  
_Friday, November 18th, 2006 ( 8:19 pm)_

* * *

Lying on my cobalt blue duvet cover, I stare up at the black metal bars supporting Logan's mattress that are, in turn, staring back at me. Unfortunately, when I stare at them I'm feeling a million different emotions. When they're looking at me, they're not _really_ looking at me, they're thinking "Wouldn't it be funny to fall on this kid and crush him?" 

It's reminding me of Zoey; then again, what doesn't these days?

The reason for this comparison is that it's always like this with Zoey: I look at her, she looks back at me, but there's never any significance. At least, not in her gazes. Every glance I've ever stolen at her has only made me more depressed. It's also made me love her more.

On the other hand, all this signifies that nothing's changed with us, even with the whole Rebecca thing behind us. In some respects, I should be grateful for this. Change scares the heck out of me. I tried to explain this theory to Mike once, and he told me I was the weirdest boy in the world. Easy enough for him to say, he's got a girlfriend; he doesn't need to impress anybody anymore.

The door opens and slams shut as somebody flounces into my room and collapses on Michael's bed. Said person lies there for a few moments and I wait quietly for an explanation, startled out of my thoughts.

"You haven't told her yet?" demands an inquisitive voice, breaking the mutual silence. I listen to the sound of the box springs squeaking as she turns on her side, probably to face me.

"Why do you think it's so easy, Dana?" I ask her, rubbing my hands over my forehead, my eyes, my lips.

"Because it's not, you know."

The room is silent, save for the quiet chatter of birds outside the window. Though it isn't an awkward silence (it never has been with Dana), I'm starting to feel uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because I can feel her gaze penetrating my body, uncomfortable because she wants answers. I sigh deeply.

"She'll never look at me the way I look at her."

Her continuous silence confirms to my paranoiac mind what I've been dreading; that I was right all along. Zoey doesn't love me, or even like me slightly more than a friend. She doesn't want me, doesn't need me, doesn't yearn for me. I honestly believe that girls are blowing their emotions way out of proportion. Guys are the ones with all the problems.

"Chase…"

"You know what I think?" I ask her, interrupting. "I think that girls blow their emotions way out of proportion. Guys are the ones with all the issues about understanding when it comes to relationships. Girls are so damn complicated, with all their mixed messages and their wily female antics. It's ridiculous."

I continue to stare upward, not breaking my gaze with the metallic bars, crisscrossed to support the weight of it's burden. I know Dana's waiting for me to turn and face her so she can tell me something important and chockfull of priceless advice, but I'm not really in the mood.

However, my determination to ignore her expected disapproving words is met only by more silence. I flip over and shove my face into my ivory white pillow, inhaling the aroma of laundry detergent.

"Say something, will you?" I mutter indistinctly, allowing her a chance to speak. I know that if I continue on my little speech, I'll start babbling incoherently like a drunken man, which she'll so kindly point out. And then I'd start saying sappy things, like I'm drunk with forsaken love and all that fun stuff.

She inhales sharply and I hear a small thump.

"I think you've got a point," she says slowly, choosing her words carefully. She's probably assuming that one wrong move could set me off. She's wrong, though, I wouldn't blow up at her; I'm not _that_ frustrated. At her agreement, I smile into the pillowcase with gratitude.

"But," Oh. There's more. "I also think that girls have trouble too. The only reason you think guy's are less complex is because you _are_ a guy. You're inside your own head and unfortunately for us, we can't get there."

"And you can use the same reasoning for why you think girls aren't really as complicated as I'm saying they are." I finish her sentence for her, turning my head so I'm facing her. She's lying on her back, her arm dangling over the side of the bed. The thump I heard was probably her hand hitting the sideboard.

"No, I never said that girls aren't complicated. They are. They're all too busy playing mind games to just live; too busy putting on a façade for the benefit of their latest prey. It's a scary world out there, when you think about it," she says, staring up at our ceiling.

It's covered in different sized glow-in-the-dark stars, the larger stars representing different constellations. Logan, Michael and I are all visual learners, so we put them up there to remind us of the stars positions for our astronomy test next week.

"Out where?" I ask her, sliding onto the floor. I lean against my bed frame, arms resting on my knees.

"The girls lounge," she replies, looking at me and giving me a small smile. She adds, in a smaller voice, "Don't worry about Zoey, Chase. She'll come around, I promise."

I smile in gratitude. "I'm holding you to that. Anyway, so now that I've had my ramble, where's yours?"

She turns on her side and looks above my head for a moment before lowering her gaze to meet my eyes. I'm almost used to her new appearance, though the hair still throws me off. It's not that I don't like it; it's just that I hate change. Always have.

"Don't have one," answers Dana. Suddenly enthralled by her fingernails, she turns her attention to them, biting at their tips. Something she always does when she's bluffing.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," I sing softly, resting my chin in my hand.

"Am not," she says moodily. "Besides, I'm not wearing pants."

My eyebrows shoot up at this comment and I fix her with an amused expression. She merely scoffs and rolls her eyes, looking into my eyes once again.

"I'm wearing shorts, idiot."

"I know." I grin, glad to have gotten her attention. "Now then; if you don't have a ramble that must mean you had a pretty uneventful day. Am I right? Unless… all those churches in Paris turned you into a reincarnation of Mother Theresa?"

Her silence tells me everything I need to know. I don't lead her on anymore than I have to; I know that she'll tell me when she's ready. Even though we're close, that doesn't mean that I've got her all figured out. The one thing that _is_ predictable about Dana, however, is that she doesn't respond to constant nagging. All it does it cause her to retreat further into her mind and soon you have no chance in hell of finding anything out.

"I woke up late, I went to class, I went to another class, I had lunch," she lists off the entirety of the day's events on her fingers. "I went to some more classes, I got a slice of pizza, I played basketball, I came here, and I threw a pillow at you for being so nosey."

"What? You never threw a pi-" A cushy, orange and white striped monstrosity of a pillow whacks me square in the face, putting a stop to any confusion I had. Ouch. Well, I guess I deserve that.

"The pizza must have been pretty good then, if you have nothing bad to say," I tease, watching as her expression changes to one of exasperation. "What about basketball? Played by yourself?"

"No," she mutters thickly, burying her face in Michael's bedspread. Coincidentally, the duvet cover matches the pillow I've just been introduced to. I listen quietly, intently, avoiding looking at her though I know she can't see me. The droning buzz of a bumblebee hovers outside of our window. With a glance outside, I see a miniscule, furry, yellow and black patterned bee land on a begonia, the last rays of sunlight illuminating his silhouette. The plump little insect buzzes happily, withdrawing his prize of pollen.

Dana sits up slowly and folds her hands in her lap, fingers fidgeting. I continue to watch my new friend outside, deciding against scrutinizing her face. She breathes in, and then exhales before explaining.

"I met Logan there," she answers simply. I turn to face her and find her eyes gazing into mine. I don't need much more explanation than that; their, uh, "relationship" was common knowledge back in eighth grade. Couple that with my knowledge of how Logan feels about Dana and my assumptions about how she feels about him and I can only imagine what an interesting (not to mention awkward) event that must have been. Of course, I won't ask for details, I'm bigger than that.

Okay, I'm lying. Despite how feminine it makes me sound, I want details. Unfortunately, she doesn't share the same interest in discussing the subject. I sigh. I guess I can understand that; it's probably a touchy area.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before she glances at the clock, slapping her hands on her thighs.

"Well, I've gotta go. The teachers decided it's best to treat me like just another student, so I've got piles of homework to do," she explains, excusing herself.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," I say. Then, rather viciously, I add, "Or are you gonna leave again?"

She pauses at the door and turns to face me. She looks taken aback, and I can't say that I really blame her. I don't know why I've saved this little explosion until now, but I can honestly say that I didn't feel it coming. The whole time she was here, I never once thought about how she was absent all last year when I really needed her. I should probably apologize.

"Chase, what are you talking about?" she asks me, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. Oh right, like you don't know. She doesn't expect me to be that stupid, does she?

"I applaud you Dana, I really do. Thank you so much for taking a chunk out of my comfortable life. Do you know how much stress your little move caused me? It wasn't so much the change, really; it was the abrupt change."

I fume silently for a few moments, pretending to be unaware of her amused expression. After calming down considerably I look again into her chocolate eyes.

"Done ranting now?" she asks me, allowing a small smile to seep across her face.

I shrug. "Guess so."

"Good," she replies, drawing me into a bear hug. Can you say uncharacteristic? Disregarding my little outburst I relax, pulling her to me tightly.

"I missed you, Dana," I mumble in her ear.

"You better have," is all she says.

Yep, Paris didn't change her one bit.

* * *

**  
Author's Note:** I think the reason I enjoy writing about Dana so much is because we never really got a feel for her character's depth, which makes it easy to interpret her personality anyway I want to. So if you're not a big fan of how I'm portraying her, I'd be happy to hear how you perceive her. Who knows, maybe it'll give me a new direction for this story. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 


	10. Butter Fingers: Michael

**Author's Note:** So I'm pretty much terrible at being consistent with updates. I've apologized for almost every late chapter so far, and it wouldn't hurt to do that one more time. So I'm sorry for this being so late, but I really had to fine tune it. Eeenjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own.

Butter Fingers: Michael  
_Tuesday, November 21st, 2006 (3:17 pm)_

* * *

Shit, can girls ever _talk_. 

Well, two girls in particular: Nicole Bristow and my girlfriend, Taylor Cowell. Both of whom are in my last class of the day (Spanish) and both of whom had decided that spending today's class talking about fashion was the best possible thing to do.

Usually, I'm pretty ecstatic about Taylor being in my class. But today, she was less interested in holding my hand than helping Nicole show me all the cute purses they were thinking of buying in Teen Vogue (it's their biggest issue ever). There was the orange one with rhinestones for a simple movie date, the oversized lavender one with lemon accents for a day at the beach, and of course, the classic discreet black suede clutch with the strappy handle for all and every occasion.

Not to mention the russet leather ankle boots, the rose and cranberry pashmina, the sapphire blue satin ballet flats and the charcoal (it is NOT black Michael!) off the shoulder sweater. All reasonably priced at $175 and up.

It's enough to drive a man insane.

Finally, after eighty minutes of sheer agony, the bell rang and we were herded from the classroom by a cranky teacher who probably wants nothing more than to settle back with a cheap glass of wine. Needless to say, I bolted. So it's now just me, a free, if a bit lonely, man, walking back to my dorm. Chase and Logan were supposed to meet me by Sushi Rox for an afternoon pick me up, but neither of them showed. Didn't phase me much, though; I don't think they deserve my company anyway.

I stroll by the courtyard, vaguely taking in the hordes of kids that gather there every Friday afternoon. I don't even bother trying to distinguish people in crowds anymore; they always move and change position, making it ridiculously hard to get their attention. People seem to assume that I'm the very definition of partier, but parties aren't really my scene. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good shebang. I'm just not a big fan of crowds, never have been.

Squeezing my way through a group of skaters (claustrophobia kicking in), I approach my dorm building, rubbing my hands together. Alright, the tricky door. The sign reads pull, but I always, _always_ push. It's been about a month and I still haven't figured out that it never changes; it's always pull. I reach for the door handle when it suddenly opens, revealing a bushy-haired head.

"'Sup Chase," I greet, high-fiving him as he emerges fully from behind the door, holding it open as people pass him by. I decide to let the sushi stand-up slide this time. "Why aren't you with Logan?"

Chase scratches his head with his free hand before answering. "He took off."

"Court again?" Classic Logan behaviour.

"Dunno. I mentioned the D word," (I feign horror) "and he got this über weird look on his face. Then he just left. He did that on the day she came back, he did it the other day: every single time, man," he says, shrugging. "So you've got the dorm to yourself; I'm meeting Zoey so we can go over our science homework."

"Ho-ho yeah, man, good luck!" I exclaim, high-fiving him again before he leaves to go to his little study-date. How cute, he's going all red; I tend to have that affect on people. He lets go of the door and walks away. Spotting my chance, I slip into the opening before it closes, avoiding the entire process of pushing and pulling.

"Michael my man, you are a genius," I say proudly, approaching our dorm room. I open (push) this door and go in to find it empty, just like Chase said. Empty; just the way I like it. I can do whatever I want and nobody can stop me. And with all the stuff Logan's dad gave him for our room, it's a pretty sweet deal. Now it's just me, the air conditioner and our beautiful, high-speed internet computer.

I relax into the plush leather rolling chair, kicking off my Shocks. Ahhh, my favourite time of the day: loading new music onto my mp3 player. It holds so many songs it's almost ridiculous. I remember the first day I got it, I was sitting in the lounge and Dana helped me figure out all the controls so I gave her some space on it. I still have some of her songs, actually; they kinda grew on me. But I don't go spreading that around. Rock just isn't my thing.

**Blip.**

What's this? A new e-mail? Well isn't that just a coinci… oh shucks. It's not for me, it's for Logan; he forgot to log off our computer. I hate it when he does that. Well, I guess I should log him off…

…then again, the e-mail is practically inviting me to open it. And besides; if he didn't want people reading his stuff, he wouldn't have stayed logged on, am I right?

Oh, I am so right.

Here's to teaching Logan Reese a lesson. I'll just click this little envelope and…

_Hey Logan, we're all meeting in the co-ed lounge at 4:00 to discuss the __final touches  
for our project. Lola's coming by to pick you up in case you don't get this in time.  
__- Anthony_

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" I ask myself. I've always had this bad habit of thinking out loud. It gets me in trouble a lot, but it's actually worked to my advantage once: I wanted to ask Taylor out, but I couldn't find the words to do it, so by accident I started thinking out loud. I didn't know that I was doing it, but Taylor suddenly said that it was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard, so I guess I said something right.

I've always secretly hoped I didn't say she had a nice ass.

Anthony… rings a bell, actually… oh, I got it. He was in my media class last year: total psycho.

Logan has got no social life if he's getting e-mails from Anthony about a… "project". Speaking of which, Reesey-boy is gonna miss that meeting if he doesn't skedaddle over there in the next twenty minutes. I would call him and inform him of this little meeting, but then he'd know I was snooping.

Let's see what else he's got. Chain letters, ads, random e-mails that aren't interesting at all… what's this? A folder marked C? I probably shouldn't look at this. I should log him off and turn away right now.

"Oops, my finger acci-denta-lly slipped," I say loudly (awkwardly) as if I were a bad actor reciting a line.

But hey, who's acting here?

There's a boatload of e-mails in here – about 17 pages worth, actually, dating from last October to earlier today.

Intriguing? I think so.

"So what's the C stand for, Richie Rich?"

Damn thinking out loud. I hope Logan isn't standing outside. Or was telling the truth about his superhero hearing. Seeing as the first page has the first messages, let's start at that page, shall we? With the very first e-mail.

_Dana,_

_Hey, how's Paris? I know what you're thinking; doesn't Logan Reese have better conversation starters  
than that? I do, actually, but I don't think you'd want to hear them. __I'm basically sending you this  
because I know you well enough to guess that you'd never be the first to communicate.  
Something about showing weakness, perhaps?  
__  
- Logan_

Ohhh, I get it. C is for Cruz. Clever. But why is he saving the e-mails he sends?

_Logan,_

_Haha, very funny. You know, I probably would have sent you an e-mail sooner or later.  
Probably later. But I still would have. __Paris is amazing. The city is gorgeous, and everything is  
so interesting; even the sewers. Paris has sewers with HISTORY. Great, huh?  
Anyway, I don't want to bore you with the details 'cos I'm sure your famous faaather has  
taken you to Paris tons of times.__So enough about la belle France;  
how's PCA without me? A stinking hellhole of misery?_

_- Dana_

_P.S. About your conversation  
starters? Thanks for not  
wasting my time.  
_

_Dana,_

_Oh, but you're a lot funnier than I am. You would have sent me an e-mail sooner or later?  
Later doesn't cut it in the Reese family, sweets. Actually, I've never been to Paris.  
It sounds pretty cool; I'd like to go sometime. We should go after we finish high school. Speaking of that,  
are you ever coming back, or will I have to conveniently run into you on some street in Paris?  
__And yeah, that hellhole of misery pretty much sums it up. There's a new girl._

_- Logan_

_P.S. No problem chickadee.  
_

_Logan,_

_Lateness doesn't cut it in the Reese family? Since when have I been a part of your fancy little famille?  
I think you'd like it here. There are models everywhere you look and they absoloutely fawn over  
foreign celebrities.__So by we you mean the whole PCA gang? And what's this about a new girl?  
I've heard about her from Zoey, too. You guys are replacing me already? Tsk tsk._

_- Dana_

Dana,

_Don't deny it; you've always dreamed of being Mrs. Dana Reese. Did you say models?  
I love models. Models love me. Hell, everybody loves me. Now I can't wait to go to Paris;  
my dad's a foreign celeb, there are hott girls, nice clothes. Heaven. _

_Yeah, sure. Or, you know… could be just us?  
Her name's Lola, and she's all dramatic and stuff. She's okay, but I dunno. Not my favourite.  
She's clinging on to Zoey. It's like having another Nicole, but this one has coloured hair.  
And no, you can't be replaced, because you're coming back.  
__  
Actually, you still haven't answered that yet. Are you coming back?_

_- Logan_

Logan,

_Haha, in your dreams kid, not mine. And yeah, you're right;  
everybody just ADORES you and your arrogance._

_"Just us". ???_

_Lola? Wow, sounds dramatic. Is she all feather boa and pink pumps?_

_- Dana_

_P.S. I don't know_.

Dana,

_So I'm arrogant, who cares? I know I don't._

_Lola: depends on what day you see her. I swear, this girl finds the weirdest clothes  
in the bargain bin and layers them about fifty times. Sure, originality is cool and all,  
but she's just weird. And for her first impression, she pretended she was a goth chick.  
Lame? Yeah._

_- Logan_

_P.S. I think you know what I  
meant by that._

Logan,

_By what?  
_

_- Dana_

Dana,

_"Just us"._

_- Logan_

Hmmm… this just gets curiouser and curiouser. It's a good thing my conscience is on a well-deserved hiatus; normally I'd be beating myself up about doing something like this. Oh well, it's too late anyways; I'm finished the first page. The next few pages are probably virtually the same, so I'll just skip to the last one.

From 12:37, this afternoon (November 21st), only one piece of mail. And only one of me to read it; works out perfectly if you ask me.

_Dana,_

_Meet me at the courts at 4:00 today. Don't worry; it's not about  
me wanting to kick your ass in a rematch. But it is important._

_Logan_

So I'm thinking I shouldn't investi – I mean, my finger shouldn't slip any farther along the page numbers. I'll just log Logan off and get my new music. No thinking, speaking or asking about this ever.

Ever.

X button, green button, delete this little episode off his computer's history, another x button and finally the yellow button. There, no more snooping. Music time, music time, music time; that's all I was doing in here. Music time, music time, music time…

I select about 20 new songs and click the upload button just as Chase enters the room at a sprint, looking frantically through his neat stacks of paper. His face is flushed and he's hyperventilating; sometimes I just like to sit back and watch him run around like a spooked horse. Just for the fun of it. But today is a Zoey study date day, meaning no time for my shenanigans.

"Dude, calm down; what are you looking for?" I ask him, spinning in the chair to face him. I feel so James Bond.

"My notebook: it's got all my notes, my paper, my writing uh, my writing things, uh uh uh…" He's starting to spazz, wringing his wrists in frustration. "Michael please, you've got to help me! Zoey's waiting and I, I–"

"Chase: chill, man. Your notebook's right there." I point to an army green binder lying on the ground by the tv. I'm guessing it's his because mine is navy blue, and Logan's more into reds.

"THANKYOU!" Chase yells as he speeds out of our room. The door swings shut with a quiet click, but not before I hear a thud from the hallway; the boy's big hair got him hurt again.

I know I shouldn't laugh, but I can't help it. He's so... panicky.

I plug my headphones into my ears and slump onto my bed, lying on my orange and white striped quilt as steady drum beats and fast words fill my ears. I lie content for a while before my mind starts to wander. All this music is reminding me of Dana; we've always connected on a musical level if nothing else. We're constantly debating about why rap or rock is better, and what the real purpose of techno is, anyway. Unfortunately, Dana is reminding me of what I've accidentally read.

I mean, it was a given that Logan would be in touch with Dana while she was in France; we all were. It's just, I didn't know to what extent he was in touch with her. Those last few e-mails were kind of unnerving.

He almost sounded… serious about her.

And that was just the first page.

* * *

**  
Author's Note: **So this was Michael; personal favourite of mine. I'm sorry if the e-mails weren't all that easy to read, but the stupid thing kept screwing up my format so I just settled for what I could get. You may have noticed that I've added the date and time as a header in this chapter. I was rereading this story and realised that there was no structured timeline, so I decided to make one. I've added a date and time to every previous chapter and it will be present in every future chapter. So if you go back and check, the timeline of the story might make a little more sense to you (hopefully). 


	11. Expect The Unexpected: Lola

**Author's Note: **So I wrote this about two months ago, and left it to rot on my computer. Oops. Sorry for the wait, but unfortunately there will probably be more long waits to come. I'm swamped right now, and my creativity's running low, so don't expect a new chapter any time soon. Do keep your eyes peeled, though, because you never know.

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own. Neither are the mentioned bands, songs or computer programs.

Expect The Unexpected: Lola  
_Tuesday, November 21st, 2006 (3:35 pm)_

* * *

"..one, two three, BABY YOU AND ME!" 

Stop, rewind, coasssssst.

"Buh-buh-buh…"

La-la-love the Jackson 5. Ever since that whole Michael Jackson fiasco, a lot of people have decided that they're untouchable. I think that's just a little bit stupid; people still listen to Nirvana, and look at the mystery surrounding Kurt Cobain's death. A scandal isn't enough to sacrifice good music, and good music is definitely the Jackson 5.

In my opinion, anyways. Logan has never been one to agree with me on that little issue. He deleted all of their songs I had on iTunes when everyone was hanging out in our dorm room one night. Needless to say, I didn't even need to call upon my fabulous acting skills to show him how angry that had me. I spent weeks perfecting and organizing those songs into albums and order of single release dates, and he went and deleted it all in two sneaky minutes.

Crafty, really.

Luckily for me, I had all the songs on backup. So I'll be thanking him for this little incident at our English meeting today with some extra loud, tone deaf singing. I really wish there wasn't a meeting today; the role I'm trying out for in Chase's newest play is a girl of a very dark complexion, so I need to use all my extra time sun tanning. Meetings scheduled at 4 in the afternoon don't really help me there.

"Lola!"

Speaking of pointless English meetings… good thing I have my headphones in; I'll just pretend I didn't hear him. Might as well throw in some finger snapping to add to the effect.

"Lola… Lola?"

Alright then: finger snapping AND foot tapping. Kind of hard to do when you're walking (quickly) but hey, I'm sure I can manage it. Snap, snap, tap, snap, snap, tumble (damn), snap, trip (double damn), snap –

"Sheesh, walk fast enough?" A nasal voice directly behind me accompanied by a tap on my shoulder startles me, causing me to jump. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for a long speech before turning around to face my follower: Anthony Halstead. Joy unbounded.

"Heeey Anthony, what's up?" I ask cheerily, a bright smile plastered on my face. I pluck the headphone out of my left ear and watch him fidget, grin never faltering.

"Well, actually, I need you to do me a favour. See, Logan hasn't responded to the e-mail I sent everyone yet about our little group get together. Needless to say, I've been getting a little frantic." He snorts and rolls his eyes; I nod along as though I understand completely why he's frantic about not getting a reply.

"So anyways, since I haven't received an answer, I was wondering if you could swing by his dorm room and pick him up. I mean, since you guys are friends and everything, it might be a little less awkward than if I showed up at his door, even though we're pretty tight, if you may." Once again, a snorting chortle.

The sun's shining down brightly; excellent day to have worn a tank top. I bask in the heat quietly for a moment, pretending to consider the request. Changing positions so the sun will hit both of my shoulders equally, I look at Anthony again; he recoils slightly. Hmph. Lovely confidence boost, being treated like a swamp monster.

"Yeaah, I guess I could do that. What time is it now?" I ask, tilting my head to better tan the left side of my face. He pulls back his sleeve (long sleeves in this glorious sunlight, I ask you) and checks the black band wrapped around his rather pallid wrist.

"It's three thirty eight on the dot. Now, the meeting is scheduled to start at four, but I'll excuse you and Logan for a few minutes, since you have to find him and all that," he explains, tapping his watch pointedly about fifty times.

"Sounds like a pl—wait, what do you mean I have to 'find him and all that'?" I demand, hand on hip. I rotate my head slightly and tilt it back so as to avoid a burn on my scalp. "I thought he was in his dorm."

Anthony blanches and clears his throat, rolling down his sleeve and rubbing his forearm.

"Well, hehe, I _may_ have given the impression that he was there, butinfactheisn't," he splutters, looking in all directions except mine. "I called his dorm room and his friend Michael answered and said that he hadn't seen Logan since third period."

I roll my eyes. It's not so much that I mind having to wander around in the sun looking for Logan; it's the fact that Anthony's wasting my valuable wandering around in the sun looking for Logan time. If he had just told me in the first place, I could have a) found Logan sooner, snagging some one-on-one time and b) started tanning the back of my neck by starting my search in the opposite direction of the sun.

Mine is such a hard life to live.

"Okay, whatever. Calm down I'll find him. I have a few ideas of where he might be, so we won't be too long," I say, checking my nails while in fact tanning the underside of my forearm. Ha ha, I am _spectacular_!

"Alright, well then," Anthony pauses to check his watch and appears startled by the time. "Oh my, well I should be off so Michelle and Isaac don't worry about me."

I scoff quietly; I'm sure they're positively overcome with worry.

"Okay, well, I'll find Reese. See you in a few," I say, giving him a wave and turning off toward the tennis courts. I rack my brain for places that he could be; you just never know with Logan Reese.

Okay: tennis courts, pool, boys lounge, Sushi Rox and even the drama room. Logan Reese is nooowhere. Might as well just give up. I sit down on the ledge overlooking the eating spot thing. Patio, that's the one. Taking a sip of my water I survey the grounds, shading my eyes from the bright glare of the sun. I pause with the bottle only inches from my lips as an idea pops into my mind. I don't know how I didn't think of it earlier, it's so simple.

He's down at the basketball courts, obviously. Where else? Honestly, I can be so Nicole sometimes. I skip down the curving stairway and make my way to the courts. I flash a grin at a girl from my science class as I pass by her… a girl with the same hoodie as Dana.

Dana Cruz… I don't mind her; it's her past relationships with everyone that I dislike. Well, not everyone. I'm over that part. I actually genuinely like Dana. But, well, the whole Logan thing…

My mind wanders to my previous conversations with Zoey.

_the boy versus girl basketball game  
_"So it all started then?"  
"Yeah, you could say that. He brushed her arm and they exchanged this weird look."  
_the arguments  
_"Wow. Sounds like he egged her on constantly."  
"Shamelessly."  
_the pick-up lines  
_"I think every girl's heard that one."  
"Yeah, but the funny thing is, I think he actually meant it that time."  
_the rejections  
_"I don't believe that."  
"It's true. He _almost_ looked crushed."

I learned a lot about the deeper side of eighth grade from that conversation. After we had it, I decided to give Dana a chance; I had discovered some aspects of her personality that I liked. I offered to buy her a smoothie, and we got to talking; we have more in common than I thought. Since then, we've become pretty good friends. Well, about as close as you can get after two or so weeks.

I almost pass right by the basketball courts, caught up in the events since Dana came back. Walking by the entrance, I hear a familiar voice speaking. I pause at the same moment that a pause occurs in the conversation. Then a voice that makes my heart flutter responds, tone equally low.

Deciding against interrupting the conversation, I slip between the two rows of shrubbery bordering the left side of the pathway which leads up to the court's gates. I wouldn't want to be rude, now would I? I listen more intently, crouching so that I'm hidden by the tall, dense plants. Leaning towards the fence, I catch snippets of sentences.

"...mumble mumble mumble we do now?" That's definitely Logan.

"I don't know, I guess we mumble mumble."

Hmm, thrilling conversation. So this is what's more important than a project meeting, huh? More importantly, who's this mystery girl?

"Well I'm sorry I can't mumble mumble." I'm guessing he rolled his eyes or something; she sounds a little exasperated. My super sleuth skills are starting to set in; the voice almost sounds like Cheyenne. I lean even closer, so much so that I'm propping myself up on the branches of one of the bushes.

"Whatever. So, do you want to give it a go then or not?" Logan asks – I can only imagine the stance he's in right now. But wait; give what a… oh. Give _that_ a go. There's a silence. I can only imagine what's happening right now. I swallow, defiantly holding back any sound.

Logan's ringtone slices through the silence and he answers with his customary "eighth wonder of the world speaking". Today, it's a pretty joyful "eighth wonder of the world speaking", though he's obviously trying to hold back; it's so typically Logan that it makes me cringe. I'm supposing Cheyenne said yes…

The perfect end to my (sincerely) almost perfect day.

Logan has a brief convo with whoever is on the other line before excusing himself. He mutters something to the girl, causing her to scoff. I hear footsteps heading off towards the other side of the court, presumably the east exit, so I wait patiently until I'm sure they're both long gone.

I'm about to stand up and brush the dirt off my knees when I hear a set of footsteps approaching my gate. I shrink back among the foliage. I was wrong; the girl hasn't left yet, she's just been standing in the court. Probably to catch me in the act. Oh no, I'm going to get caught. If I know anything, it's that getting on the bad side of Cheyenne Elderton is _not_ a good idea. Oh no, not a good idea at all.

I guess I deserve it; if I was a real super sleuth, I wouldn't have hidden in between two rows of foliage. Also, I would have noticed that I only heard one person walk away.

Damn.

I hold my breath and watch through the dense, leafy barrier hiding me from the world. I watch as a pair of apple green Vans slip-ons come around the green fence corner. I watch as a pair of legs, clad in white leggings and a jean skirt, come into my line of vision (very nice touch with the white studded belt).

I watch as Dana Cruz walks along the path, a small smirk playing on her lips.

I stare with wide eyes as she strolls off down the concrete pathway, continuing to gaze until she turns the corner some fifty feet off. Well, this was certainly unexpected. Though I expect it was to be expected. Maybe.

Detaching myself from the leafy clutch of the shrubs, I tumble out onto the sun-warmed concrete pathway. I stand and wipe the dirt from my knees and palms, regaining some dignity. I stroll into the basketball court, sitting on the shady steel bench.

First row, front and center. Too bad I hadn't been sitting here when it had all happened, to get a better view of exactly what happened. Too bad I hadn't been standing where she was. I lean back, propping myself up on the bench behind me and stare up at the afternoon sky. White puffs of cotton dot the vast blanket of cerulean, too cheery for my liking at this particular moment.

But wait a second; I didn't hear the entire conversation. Maybe I'm over-analyzing this whole situation. Maybe he really likes me, and he's asking her if she wants to help give his plan to woo me a go. Maybe I'm just super paranoid and am becoming a pessimist.

Or maybe… maybe I should go with my first instinct. Too many pieces of the puzzle are adding up.

I draw my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly. It's all so stupid; it should have been me. Sure they have their 'history', and yeah, I'll admit they do have a lot in common. But that's not enough.

A short buzz in my pocket informs me that I have a text message. I slowly slide my cell phone from its denim enclosure and note the time on the front panel: four nineteen. Desperately hoping the message isn't from Logan or Dana, I flip the top and press accept. A text message pops up on the screen: where are you??? did you find logan???

I roll my eyes and delete the message, blocking the number in the process. I have no tolerance for Anthony right now. I have no tolerance for the project right now. Project means seeing Logan and pretending I don't know anything about what happened. I hope they don't plan on keeping it a secret, I'm not sure if I can keep my mouth shut for that long.

I examine the keypad of my phone for a few seconds, swiftly pressing 3 and holding it to my ear. After four, long rings, there's a small click and a voice comes through.

"Hello?"

The sound of another voice causes the full impact of what I have just witnessed to hit me. I choke back a small sob. A few tears are coming now; I can't hold it all back for much longer. I know it's stupid, I know they won't last forever, I know I'm being a drama queen.

I know I don't care.

"Hello?" the voice ventures again, layered with a tone of worry. "Is anybody there?"

I inhale deeply and open my mouth, responding shakily.

"Zoey? It's Lola."

* * *

**  
Author's Note:** Drama at PCA? I think it's about time. I'll give you one preminition of what's to happen: betrayal, confessions, and a whole lot of regret. Curious yet? 


	12. Perfection: Nicole

**Author's Note: **Ta-da, it's Nicole again! She's actually crazy easy to write for. Maybe because I can ramble as much as I want and still manage to stay in character. Who knows. So, actually, I have a surprise. I already have the next chapter written. ! Alright, so it's not that great of a surprise. But hey, at least you won't have to wait fifty years for the next chapter this time.

**Disclaimer: **Zoey 101 and all related characters are not my own, nor are the mentioned movies or candies.

Perfection: Nicole  
_Saturday, November 25__th__, 2006 (7:29 pm)_

* * *

Same old place, same old time, same old thing. My life is so predictable; I don't even need to read my horoscope in the morning. I do anyways, though, obviously; it's nice to at least have a small glimmer of hope that I might stumble upon great riches or over a hula hoop. 

Wait, no, I take that back, tonight is different; we are ordering Chinese instead of sushi. I was personally shocked when Chase suggested the menu change. I have to admit, I was getting a little bit tired of soy sauce. The salt made me puff. Puff doesn't look good on me.

Oh, and tonight Lola had made invitations for our movie night. Mine was purple and sparkly. Yay Lola!

**! LOLA, NICOLE & ZOEY'S MOVIE NIGHT !**

**WHO :** The usual suspects.

**WHY :** To party hardy and swap gossip

**WHERE :** Lola, Nicole & Zoey's dorm room

**WHEN :** Saturday, November 25th 5:00 pm sharp

**WHAT :** Little Miss Sunshine, I Heart Huckabees, The Breakfast Club

Yep, the usual suspects: Zoey, Michael, Logan, Dana, Quinn and I. Mark's off studying trigonometry or something. Liam and Taylor decided to join us tonight too, which is great. I love Taylor; she's basically Teen Vogue personified. I like Liam, too; he's a good kisser. We finished watching I Heart Huckabees at around 6:45 and ordered Chinese at ten after 7. Lola and Chase left to pick it up five or so minutes ago. To pass the time, we started Little Miss Sunshine without them.

Lola's going to be so angry.

I'm sitting my bed with Liam and Zoey, munching on Smarties from the big purple party bowl. It's actually an enormous bowl; I can plunge my whole hand in and not even touch the bottom. It's amazing. I think Quinn must have invented it, it's so amazing. If I could marry a bowl, this would definitely be the one. Liam reaches over my lap and grabs a fistful of candies, brushing my hand on the way out. He grins at me and I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks.

He's soooo adorable, with his shaggy blonde hair that falls into his light brown eyes in a perfect boy way. And his really white teeth, perfectly straight when they flash me a smile. His hands are pretty much perfect too; the skin is soft and he can bend his first two joints over the tips of my fingers. Did I mention how perfect he is? I reach for Zoey's elbow and pinch as I hold in a smile. Hiiiii Liam. I'm about to ask him about his lacrosse game when Zoey pinches my elbow really hard.

"Ouch, what the heck?" I ask her, pouting as I rub the skin. Zoey gestures to her own elbow and raises her eyebrows. "Oh. Sorry Zo!" She chuckles and shakes her head at me before popping a grape into her mouth. Man, is that all she ever eats?

"Here," Liam says, gently pulling my arm towards him. "I'll make it better." He gives me a small peck on my elbow. I giggle and pull my arm back, swatting him.

"I'm a big girl, you know," I remind him as he pulls me into him. "I can take care of myself."

"You just keep telling yourself that, Nic," he replies, stroking my arm.

"Can you _not_?"

We look over at the pile of plush bean bags, where Logan and Dana are lounging and looking pretty irritated. Dana is glaring at me; I stick out my tongue.

"Oh come on, you only like this part because you looooove Dwayne," I remind her. Logan raises an eyebrow but says nothing, popping more popcorn into his mouth. Dana rolls her eyes and looks back at the screen. Dwayne is setting the table as Sheryl calls Olive up to dinner.

"Damn, Dana, look at him opening that bucket of chicken," Michael teases from his spot on up above us on Lola's bed. 'What a _man_." Dana lets out an irritated groan as we all laugh.

"You guys are just jealous," she mutters, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume.

"Oh yeah, I wish I was as pale as that kid is. Would it kill him to get some sunlight? And don't even get me started on the hair." The movie pauses and a blur of green flies over our heads. Michael barely deflects the it, whacking the pillow towards the door just as Lola and Chase open it, slamming it shut in their faces. We all burst out laughing. A few seconds later the door creaks open slowly and Chase' bushy head pokes into the room.

"Is it safe yet?" he whispers, searching the room with shifty eyes.

"Just bring the food in, you big baby," Zoey teases, getting up and opening the door for them. Chase and Lola come in and dump the plastic bags on the coffee table.

"So, what was with the pillow throwing?" Lola asks, unwrapping a carton of house fried rice and a pair of chopsticks. We all look at Dana, grinning. She mumbles something about 'just because he's gorgeous' before hitting play.

"…YOU STARTED THE MOVIE WITHOUT ME?" Lola shrieks, wringing her wrists in frustration. "No way you guys, you know this is my favourite movie, I can't believe you, which part are we at?"

"We _were_ watching Dwayne set the table, before these buffoons acted up," Dana exclaims angrily. Liam kisses my shoulder and I giggle. Dana's head whips towards me and she shoots me a death glare.

"Hey, it's his fault!" I point at Liam who looks anywhere but in Dana's direction.

"You really are too temperamental," Logan commented casually, resting his head on Dana's thigh. "Don't worry though, I like it." She smacks the top of his head and rolls her eyes moodily.

"Oh my god, I missed that part?! I love that part!" Lola exclaims, throwing herself onto a beanbag next to Dana. Dana grins and rewinds to the beginning of the scene, as Lola nestles into the beanbag. "I love how he just throws everything down on the table. What good acting. What a perfect man." She sighs dreamily, tracing patterns on her thigh absentmindedly.

"Don't. Even." Dana warns Michael, pointing her finger at him, eyes never leaving the screen. We watch in silence for a few minutes.

"Uhm, can someone pass the eggrolls?" Liam asks, looking a little bit terrified to be disturbing the 'peace'. Quinn passes over the carton. She's busy examining her wonton; she opened it up and now she's dropping little, white… she's dropping carpet fuzz into it. I'll just pretend I didn't see that.

--------

"Hey, guys?" Michael says, taking bites out of a string of red licorice. "If I die, promise you won't wrap me in a sheet and stuff me in the back of a VW bus."

"Who says you have to be dead…" Lola ventures, tapping her chin with her fingers while pretending to consider it. Michael drops his licorice on the grass and rolls onto his side, holding his hand over his heart, a hurt expression on his face. Lola and Michael are so compatible; too bad he's with Taylor. Yeah, I really like Taylor, but I've always thought there were more sparks between Michael and Lola. Oh well.

"Did you say 'if' you die?" Chase asks him. I feel the grass next to my head stir as if he's running a hand through his bushy hair. I don't know how he works it through there so quickly. It's like a maze. Almost like those Greek ones, but I don't think there is a bullman in there or a spool of thread. Then again, you never know.

I gaze at the stars up above. We're lying in a circle on the cool night grass, our heads meeting in the middle. Most of the lights on campus are dimmed or out completely, so the night sky is very clear and the stars are incredibly bright. I let out a sigh; it's so beautiful, and it's so vast…

Astronomy is the only part of science I'm really interested in. I'm not even sure why; maybe it's because the stars and planets show us that there's a more out there than us. That thought is a little bit scary, though, so I reach for Liam's hand and find it, squeezing tight. A cool breeze wafts over us and I shiver, zipping Liam's jacket up over my chin.

"Why yes, I did say 'if'. I don't plan on dying. Ever."

"We'll see about that one," Zoey says playfully. Lola and I laugh, and Dana lets out a trademark scoff of approval.

"Are you suggesting that you're planning to kill me?" Michael asks, sounding positively shocked. We all murmur 'yes' and 'please'. Michael flops down on his back again, muttering under his breath.

"Padron?" I ask, resting my cheek on the grass to see him. He tilts his head back and catches my eye, looking quite calm. He clears his throat.

"I said, 'screw you guys, I'm going home'," he repeats. Dana and Logan laugh on the opposite side of the circle. I sit up slightly and turn to see them. They're laying side by up, staring up at the night sky. Logan holds Dana's hand on his chest and she's peacefully resting her cheek on his shoulder. I grin and lower myself back down. Liam scoots closer to me and we lean our heads together.

A few minutes pass by quietly. Quinn clears her throat, signaling that she's about to speak. We all brace ourselves, getting ready to stifle a laugh. I love Quinn; her ideas are always so off the wall. Sometimes I wonder how she even comes up with her ideas. Like the Banapples. Too bad those never worked out; they would have made awesome smoothies.

"Actually, now that I think about it, I could probably do something about that living eternally prospect…" she says slowly, to our groans and giggles. Michael laughs, politely pretending to consider the offer.

"Quinn… remember the potato chips?"

"They were tasty," she says defensively. "Don't deny it. It's not my fault your body became dependant on them; that's your lack of self-control."

Ouch. Michael laughs and sits up, brushing the grass off the back of his head before standing completely. From where I'm lying, he looks like a giant.

"Yeah, you've probably got a point there," he replies honestly, helping Taylor up off the ground. She brushes off the back of her thighs and takes his hand, fingers intertwined.

"I've got softball practice at nine tomorrow morning, so I should probably be heading out," Taylor says apologetically, grinning at us. "I'm gonna have to hang out with you guys more often; I've officially decided that insane people are my favourite."

"I'm going to assume you meant 'outrageously good-looking'," Logan says. Dana rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin in her hands, mimicking Lola's pose. Lola gazes at Logan for a few seconds too long before quickly turning away. I catch her eye and raise an eyebrow; she immediately looks away. AHA, I knew it. I'm such a good detecti…oh no, Lola… I bite my lip and look in her direction. She looks at me again, mouthing 'later' to me. I nod and look back towards Michael and Taylor. Or, Michael and Taylor's backs retreating to the dorm rooms. Not even a good-bye? How rude.

"I should probably leave too. I've got a pile of tests on Monday," Liam says, standing up to leave as well. Assuming this is my cue, I get up too, wiping the dirt off my hands. Yuck, there's so much. Who invented dirt, anyway? Liam stretches his back and neck, then swings his arm around my shoulders and leads me away across the grass. I wave over my shoulder at the gang. "Niiight guys."

"Later," Zoey replies. She and Chase are lying side by side, Chase pointing out constellations and planets. Zoey snuggles a closer to him. "From the cold," I bet she'll say. Sneaky.

The voices of my friends grow fainter as we turn onto the concrete pathway leading up to the dorms. Liam and I walk in silence for a while, happy in each other's presence. Or at least, I'm happy in his. What if he isn't happy in mine? Oh no, what if he's waiting for me to say something? What if the situation is actually really awkward, I just haven't noticed and –

"Nicole," Liam says quietly, turning my face towards his.

"Ye-" Lim's lips on mine are an instant and welcome distraction from my mind. I lean into him, pressing my hands to his chest. His hands dip into my lower back, holding me to him. I fall backwards, hitting the stone wall of a building. I press my lips securely against his, like I'll never let him go. I wouldn't, if it was an option.

As I kiss him back, he nibbles lightly on my bottom lip. Surprised, I kiss him gently, opening my eyes. All I can see are his eyelashes and what I'm assuming is his nose. I close my eyes and grin into his kiss, my lip gloss smudging all around his mouth. I pull back, giggling at the light pink shine surrounding his lips. He grins and wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb. I lean in and kiss him again momentarily.

"Mmm," I giggle. "Watermelon." Liam laughs and shakes his head at me. He leans his forehead against mine, holding me tightly.

"What am I going to do with you?" he whispers, kissing my nose. I smile and feel myself blush.

"Walk me home?" I offer. I wonder what time it is. I'm pretty sure I have to study all day tomorrow too. Oh poo. I'd rather get a smoothie with Liam. Maybe I can do both. We could study together; we are in three classes together, after all.

"We're here. We've been here for a few minutes," he answers, leaning back and giving me a puzzled look. I blink, looking up at the illuminated sign to the left: Brenner Hall. My lips form a silent O. That could be why it's so bright all of a sudden. I unfold myself from Liam's arms and grab the door handle, pulling open the door slowly. I walk inside, holding it open.

"Thanks for walking me back," I say, smiling at him as I close the door. He waves continuously, until the door is almost shut; then he pokes his head in the tiny opening.

"Anything for you," he replies, giving me one last quick peck before retracting his head and allowing the door to close. We stare at each other for a minute before he waves and heads off to his own dorm. I watch him until he has disappeared into the dark. Sighing, I turn around and slide down the cool glass, holding myself. Goosebumps appear on my bare legs, thank to the air conditioning. Snuggling into Liam's letterman jacket, I inhale his cologne as I stare up at the ceiling, fluorescent light bulbs glaring down at me.

Liam's amazing. My friends are amazing. The stars are amazing. Tonight was amazing.

No. Tonight was... perfect.

* * *

**  
Author's Note :** So, what do the readers think of Nicole and Liam? Cute? Too cute? Overly affectionate? I'm curious. Oh, so I've got a message here to anyone who thinks that they know how the story will unfold : think again. Then think it over a few more times. Things aren't always as they seem. What on earth am I talking about? You'll have to wait and see. 


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